


Rise From the Ashes of a Dynasty

by AugustStories



Series: Howling at the Stars [38]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flower Crowns, Fun, Hurt/Comfort, I totally forgot someone and will add them later, Jousting, Storm's End (ASoIaF), so many characters - Freeform, tourney
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 16:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 123,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21431074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustStories/pseuds/AugustStories
Summary: As Storm's End celebrates the Crown Prince's third nameday with the first Grand Tourney since Harrenhall, the entire realm seems to come together for a fortnight of entertainment. Dorne makes an impressive return to the open game of thrones and time has come for Jon to be presented to court. In the aftermath of said meeting, Jon's world shifts and next to a lot of surprises, Jon also comes to a very important decision.Meanwhile Torrhen can show off his skills and has his instincts work overtime to watch over his sister, cousins and most of all Jon while trying to not let every dress and sword distract him.
Relationships: Arthur Dayne & Jon Snow, Arthur Dayne/Aurane Waters, Ashara Dayne/Barristan Selmy, Jon Snow & Original House Dayne Character(s), Jon Snow & Original Male Character(s), Jon Snow & Tyene Sand, Jon Snow & Willas Tyrell, Oberyn Martell & Jon Snow
Series: Howling at the Stars [38]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/818547
Comments: 263
Kudos: 340





	1. Prologue: The Ruins of Summerhall (272 AC)

**Author's Note:**

> With this story we have reached the beginning of the last miles of a super long marathon and though this journey is yet far from over still, I anyway want to take the moment and thank everyone who had been reading along, whether it be right from the start so long ago or come in at a later point. I am so grateful for all of you! Super honored by every kudos left behind, by every bookmark made or by the overwhelmingly loving comments you guys left! Thank you for all of that!
> 
> And I can't wait to go on this part of the journey with you now where things are heating up, where things are happening and where big moments are arriving!
> 
> Have fun!

Arthur was two and ten when he first laid eyes on Summerhall and bit his tongue so hard upon Rhaegar's glinting excited eyes beaming in his direction that he drew blood. “Isn't it beautiful?” Rhaegar gushed and he smiled so bright when he urged his horse on to ride into the courtyard of the castle that laid before them. Arthur threw a look to Ser Barristan, nearly begging for a hint on how to react but the Kingsguard – their guardian for this trip – kept his eyes on their surroundings, so Arthur turned his hope onto his other companion.

“It was beautiful once upon a time,” Jace offered up with a shrug, not really knowing what to say either, this trip was a kind of punishment for him. Forced to endure adventures on land after his second trip to Essos with his own crew had ended up in a skirmish with a Tyroshi on open sea and his ten year old brother making his first kill. Uncle Lucerys had banned Jace from setting a foot onto his own ship for at least six moons, being off age hadn't mattered to him at all, and Aurane was glued to his father's side for the time being, going absolutely mental with boredom.

So, here they were now, on the long anticipated trip to Rhaegar's place of dreams.

Summerhall.

“Once upon a time is a bit much,” Arthur muttered as he reluctantly let his horse follow Rhaegar into these crumbling, blackened ruins, “You were there, Jace, what are you, an old man?” Jace snorted and grimaced just as much as Arthur did as they came into the courtyard and could see the blown out parts of the great hall walls and roof. That wildfire had sure done a number on a grand castle that must have been one of the most beautiful places in the Seven Kingdoms.

Three and ten years ago.

Arthur wondered if Jace remembered anything of that night or if the mind of a child had made it easy to forget, Ser Barristan looked slightly uncomfortable and he hadn't even been there. Rhaegar was already impatiently tapping his foot on the stairs that just hours before his birth had led up into an impressive castle entrance, now weather worn stone slabs led into withered away blown out doors and charred stone.

Beauty was not what came to Arthur's mind.

Aerys had reminded him to be careful before they had ridden off, had told him to be careful for Rhaegar as well because Rhaegar forgot himself when he was here, in the place of his birth and his family's greatest tragedy.

“Go, Arthur. Jacaerys and I will see to have a camp set up by the time the Prince has showed you the castle.” Ser Barristan took his horse's reins and Arthur left them behind to Jace's mutterings of 'how many times do I have to say it's Jace, Ser Barristan.' Rhaegar snatched up his hand into his own the second Arthur was close enough and drew him into the creepy darkness of the castle ruins.

Arthur was not going to sleep a freaking second in this place.

The matter of ghosts and nightmares and holes to fall into were all completely gone from his mind though when Arthur saw the happiness that poured itself into every part of his best friend. How Rhaegar came alive as he showed him the corners and hidden passages, the crumbled walls and burned out shells of what had once been grand rooms. The blown out ceiling of the great hall, and maybe he could see a little bit of the beauty that had once filled this place as well, just maybe a little.

And once Rhaegar pulled him further into the ruins and to the old living quarters that had been untouched by the explosion but heavily damaged by the fire nonetheless, Arthur's head was willing to slip into times long gone as well. This castle had only ever seen two families living in it, two princely Lords had sat on the high chair of Summerhall. Though officially instated as Lord of Summerhall after giving up his right in the succession, Prince Duncan hadn't called Summerhall home for more than a few weeks a year before the Tragedy.

Before him though the man who had called Summerhall home for many many years and who had raised a family in these walls, who had become a King in these very walls, had been Prince Maekar. And with him someone had walked these corridors who shared blood with Arthur, who had been born in the very same castle he had given his first scream, who had grown up among the very same cliffs he had.

The only woman who had ever been allowed to call herself Princess of Summerhall, even if history had only ever made her a Lady, Dyanna Dayne. Youngest sister of Arthur's great-grandfather. The second Dornish woman who had ever married a Targaryen, and theirs had been a love match on top, Maekar was said to have never looked at a woman again after Dyanna had died so young still. But before she had died, she had walked these halls, she had ruled over the household with Dayne stubborness no doubt, raised her children with the lessons Daynes of older generations had already used to install manners in them.

As he followed Rhaegar down the corridors, deeper and deeper into the ruins still, Arthur wondered how it might have been if Dyanna hadn't died in childbed fever after giving birth to her second daughter. How history might have looked like if Prince Daeron and Prince Aerion had had a strict no-nonsense mother who still scared, who wouldn't have let them slip so far out of control. How would the kingdom look like today if a Dayne Queen had sat next to King Maekar as the Blackfyre Rebellions raged again.

How would a Queen Dyanna advised her husband to act after her family had nearly gone extinct because of Aegor Rivers and Daemon Blackfyre's sons? Would Dyanna have let Aegon take the crown when he wasn't suited for it?

How would have the connections between Dorne and the crown moved on if another Dornish Queen had followed Queen Myriah?

“Stop stalling!” Rhaegar snapped him out of his thoughts and Arthur looked over to him just in time to see him climb into a hole in the wall. Groaning he followed Rhaegar into whatever creepy hole he had found now again, it turned out to be a sitting room of sorts, and though one wall was damaged, the rest of the room was surprisingly intact. Furniture had been taken or broken by bandits no doubt but the wall paintings were still intact because the windows were boarded up and the ceiling was still whole.

And like such Arthor froze as he stopped next to Rhaegar and let his eyes follow his friend's outstretched arm and finger.

“Word is she wanted a piece of home with her and Maekar brought in the most talented painter that the court knew about,” Rhaegar explained softly, grinning and smiling and just so godsdamn happy in this dark place. Arthur moved forward as if pulled on strings, until he was standing right in front of the wall and could trace his fingers over the castle painted on it. Over home. Over Starfall.

High up on the cliffs at the mouth of the Torrentine.

“Starting to like it yet?” Rhaegar wanted to know and despite his awe Arthur sent him a deadpanned look still, Rhaegar rolled his eyes and walked over to the pitiful remains of the desk. “The next time we're in Starfall, you need to show me the ruins in the mountains.”

“The watchtower hasn't been manned since Dorne became part of the Seven Kingdoms but it's hardly a ruin,” Arthur pointed out and trained his eyes back on the painting, searching for the window of his childhood room, searching for the courtyard and the trainings yard, searching for the docks in the harbor and the caves on the cliffs east of the castle. “But fair enough, one ruin for another. Does that mean if I show you the beach and the cliff caves, you'll finally take me to see Dragonstone properly?”

“Just try and not get sick the next time we're travelling to my island and it should be easy enough,” Rhaegar snorted and suddenly he was close enough that he could grab Arthur's hand. “Come on, we should get back. If getting food for supper is left up to Jace, we're going to starve, there aren't any rivers for fishing around here.”

As Rhaegar pulled him from the room, Arthur let himself have one last look at the Starfall painting on the wall and weirdly enough it felt telling and foreboding in a way that the only thing in a burned out damaged Targaryen castle that remained strong and unblemished was a piece of Dornish history.

A while later, Arthur was also completely right with his prediction, he hadn't slept a single minute that first night of their stay at the ruins, but mostly because Rhaegar and Barristan hadn't stopped telling stories and it was so easy to creep Jace out with ghost sightings.

\--

Twenty five years later Arthur once more rode towards the ruins of Summerhall, at his side Rhaegar's son whose eyes couldn't stop roaming over the castle ruins building themselves up in front of them.

“It's beautiful.”

And Arthur started laughing.


	2. The Ruins of Summerhall (297 AC)

Arthur couldn't help but keep his eyes on Jon and blind out the rest a little when they stopped in the grand courtyard of Summerhall's ruins and dismounted. Torrhen, in an ever more often appearing moment of silent understanding, grabbed their horses and gave Jon and him a moment alone. So Arthur could watch how Jon looked around, how those eyes that were more vibrant but also still so much Rhaegar's looked around the ruins that his best friend had once loved so much.

Rhaegar had been at peace in Summerhall, nothing had brought the storm inside his head to so much rest as these ruins. He had let himself be a child here, then a boy and then later on just a man who could for just one night forget the burdens placed upon his shoulders. Now it was Jon who lost the tension he had carried since Dorne's tourney envoy had entered the Stormlands, wide curious eyes looked around the old stone, the old walls, the old towers.

“What do you think?” He asked after a good two minutes had passed, no one had disturbed them, they had just moved around them as they got ready to rest here for the remainder of the day and the night before they would ride the last stretch to Storm's End on the morrow.

“I always imagined it in worse condition,” Jon answered him, looking up at him, that small tiny bit, there wasn't much missing anymore, Torrhen had already caught up to Arthur. It made him more aware than ever that these boys weren't going to be boys forever. Torrhen was only half a year off from coming off age, Jon was four and ten now.

“Castles are built to endure more than a watchtower,” Arthur reminded him and then wrapped his arm around Jon's shoulders to pull him towards the stairs, “come on, I'll give you the tour. Torre! Get over here!” Arthur decided as well because as much as he had come to realize that his boys were growing up, he also knew by now that nothing would ever tear those two apart, that was a bond made to last through everything.

Torrhen rushed over and he pulled the boys into the castle ruins, not many of the others would even be interested in venturing inside and he was the only one here who knew the ruins inside out. The only ones who followed them were the four-legged shadows who couldn't have been stopped anyway. Ghost and Shadow slipped into rooms and crannies as he showed Jon and Torrhen the hidden treasured places inside the blown and burned out castle, told them stories over how they had discovered the many secrets over the years.

The still undamaged painting of Starfall in Dyanna's old sitting room was still something that even took the breath away from him for a moment and he let the boys go forward alone, staid back a moment and just remembered. He had come here every single time they had visited Summerhall, later on when they hadn't needed supervision anymore, when Arthur had been the only protection needed, when it had just been the two of them, they had even put up their camp right here inside this room.

Others, whether it be Barristan or Oswell or Jonothor, had always argued over making camp in the courtyard or even outside the castle walls, worried over its instability, but Arthur was quite sure that whatever part hadn't collapsed after so much time in stormy weather and long pouring rainfalls would keep standing for a long time yet.

This time around their travel group was so big that they would have to make camp in the courtyard and outside of it, Dorne was not wasting a single color to show in Storm's End. Doran had chosen to go all out in this first full return of Dorne to the playing stage, the first time Dorne officially participated in a tourney outside its borders since the Rebellion, and Arthur couldn't help but think that it was in parts plotting and in parts worry for Jon.

Because Robert had made clear that Jon was to be presented to court at said tourney.

And Dorne had not only send its best fighters out but also most of its important players, presentation from every house.

Doran himself had not come, his health just didn't allow it anymore, Arianne had decided to remain behind with her father to take over the duties that nowadays Oberyn had taken over from his brother and Trystane was visiting his mother. Out of the other people Arthur considered family, Eyrin had remained behind with Eleana and Emil to hold up Starfall, had insisted that Carral rode with them. Allyria had remained behind as well with the children, Vorian was not yet six moons, too young to make a journey this long.

Oberyn had brought three of his daughters along, Obara and Tyene had decided for themselves that they were not going to let Jon and Torrhen face the court alone. Nymeria had chosen to support Arianne and out of the younger ones only Elia had been decided to be old enough. Quentyn had come with Lord Yronwood, his sons and his best fighters. And most other houses had done the same.

And thanks to Corlyn's last letter to Aurane, they knew that the Crownlands hadn't done it any different, especially the Velaryons had made a show of power. Only weeks since Corlyn had basically attacked the small council over the taxes forced upon the islanders, Lucerys and him had more or less taken the whole family and household knights to Storm's End, only Leano remained behind to keep an eye on Driftmark and High Tide, old injuries making their due known kept Arthur's old mentor from making long travels these days.

Ned had come down from Winterfell on Robert's invitation as well, brought Robb, Alys, Sansa, Arya and Domeric along, the first time a Stark of the main branch was attending a tourney since Harrenhall. Arthur had no doubt that people were gonna whisper about that maybe even more than Arthur Dayne's son's debut on the royal stage.

If Robert made one wrong move, he was quickly going to find the war right on his doorstep and that alone was what let Arthur sleep a little at night.

Emphasis on a little, he still was wired close to a breaking point, bringing Jon in front of Robert Baratheon and Jon Arryn was the stuff of nightmares. He knew very much that no one in their family would ever let something happen to Jon, that they had the full support and loyalty of Dorne, that there were at least two direwolves who had less hesitations about protecting their pack than humans might still have.

And if that still wasn't enough, Jon would only need one quiet moment and a storm would come to save him. A storm that would not leave anything standing in his path if his master was threatened.

“Pa?”

Blinking himself out of his thoughts, Arthur found two pairs of violet eyes looking back at him, worry in them showing that they might have been trying to get his attention for a while already.

“Everything okay, uncle?” Torrhen wanted to know, behind him Shadow was prawling around the edges of the room, dark eyes glinting when the little light caught them.

“Yeah,” Arthur told them and smiled a little, “just lost in some memories.” He explained and how could he not, there was so much reminding him of the past on this trip already, it was no wonder that Aurane was so worried about him.

And the boys were windows into the past as well.

Benjen couldn't stop repeating how much Torrhen looked like his father had at that age, he was as tall as Arthur was now already and there was no telling if the boy wouldn't yet get another growth spurt. Broad shoulders, and that handsome face. If the boy wasn't so dedicated to Jon and protecting him, Arthur would have long since drowned in whole other concerns. And skilled he was, born to wield that sword, exactly the right tool for his protection instincts and his temper.

And with Jon, he didn't even need to start. His little boy was growing up, smart and happy and though there was so much in him that reminded Arthur of his parents or his grandmother, Jon was also his own person in the end. Unfortunately it had by now become obvious that Jon had inherited Rhaegar's melancholy tendencies and that curse of getting lost in it but contrary to his fathers he had someone at his side who never lost his positivity and his energy. And there was a kindness in Jon that went beyond what Rhaegar and Lyanna had held in their hearts already.

Arthur knew that a part of him had over the years looked for anything in Jon that might point towards Aerys, it was terrible and he hated himself for it but he had spent so many years in fear and Jon _was_ Aerys' grandson. Even Rhaegar, as good as he had been, as much as Arthur had never straid from having his back, even he had seen that there had been a touch of the father in the son. Rhaegar's tendency to _obsess_ about the prophecy.

Jon had nothing of Aerys in him, after fourteen years Arthur was sure about it.

The Targaryen grandparent he came after most was Rhaella. Rhaella's heart, her kindness, her warmth for family.

“Can we see the tower?” Jon asked when he was done with inspecting the room and had called Ghost back to his side, Torrhen had instead wandered off to find Shadow who hadn't reacted to any of his calls. “The one you told me about? Rhaegar's favourite place?” Jon's eyes were shining, that part of him, that curiosity that still let him appear a kid. That wide-eyed little boy who never stopped asking questions, and Arthur wanted to protect that part the most, Torrhen had the rest very much safely cradled in his own skilled hands anyway.

“Of course, come on. After that we should return to the others, growing boys need food.”

\--

Oberyn looked up when he heard the footsteps approaching him over the grass and gave a small bitter smile when Andric reached him and sank down on the ground next to him. Oberyn had sought out a hill not far from the castle after camp had been made for the rest of the day and the night, their last stay before Storm's End.

“You know when Doran wrote me you were gonna join Elion and Quentyn in representing House Martell after all, I wasn't so sure if that was a good idea.” Andric didn't kid around nor choose his words carefully, instead he was as blunt as always, Oberyn appreciated it greatly. “You could have easily left the whole thing to Elion and Quentyn, your nephew is old enough to take over duties for Sunspear. Or Arianne could have gone in your place, Doran is sheltering her too much anyway. We both agreed on it.”

“I wanted to come, Andric,” Oberyn told him though, even if the concern was nice to hear, “if it had been King's Landing, I would have made a different choice but I've never been to Storm's End before. And anyway, I won't let your family walk into this alone, Andric, this is my family, too. Whatever happens, I won't have it that I end up drowning in guilt again because I wasn't there to make a difference.” Oberyn explained and saw how Andric glanced over to the castle ruins, Arthur had disappeared with the boys into the ruins a while ago already, they were both worried about him.

But Oberyn also knew that Arthur needed to deal with his head alone first, if someone pushed he would only draw back further. And even once he let someone in, Aurane would always be Arthur's first choice anyway.

“I hope you're aware that I'm gonna keep an eye on you,” Andric chuckled himself through his words but they were both also aware that he was dead serious, Oberyn rolled his eyes but also heard the warning. “There will be a lot of people at this tourney who stood on different sides once, and the tension is already thick enough between enough fractions without adding Jon to the powderkeg.”

“Praise to that but before you worry about me doing something stupid, try looking in that other direction, it's Corlyn who has the Lords in a sweat.” Oberyn reminded them both and Andric laughed, “never thought I'll get to say _that_ one day. Corlyn Velaryon, the troublemaker. And they can't even do anything against it because they're afraid if they speak up wrong, Jace is gonna run them through with his sword. The Crownlands don't know how to handle those two _not_ fighting.”

“What are your honest expectations?” Andric wanted to know then and smiled when Carral joined them, handing out some water flasks, “how is this gonna go?”

“For us? Or for Baratheon?” Oberyn wanted clarified but Andric shrugged his shoulders, “I see no real issues coming up for us unless someone starts something, and we didn't take a lot of troublemakers along. I promised to behave myself, Carral did as well.” He saluted them with his flask, “my girls are focused on Jon, Torrhen is focused on Jon. Baratheon on the other hand will have his hands full of it, or better say his stupid Council is gonna have their hands full. Two kingdoms are struggling with suffering smallfolk and the King throws the biggest tourney since Harrenhall. Don't have to be a smart man to realize that won't go over well.”

“It wouldn't surprise me if in his mind he is convinced giving them a spectacle will appease them again,” Andric gave his own opinion and Oberyn nodded along to it. “I think that a part of Robert never left that battlefield, he seeks the drama and the glory. He doesn't understand that all the people want is peace.”

“You know, I never was Rhaegar's greatest fan,” Oberyn dropped back into the grass as he began to talk and he didn't see how Carral and Andric exchanged a smile because all they had wanted was to get him to talk. “I never wanted my sister to leave our home, let alone leave Sunspear. And by marrying him he took her so far away from me, and being the Crown Princess prevented her from visiting, too. But Rhaegar was raised to hold a crown, he would have at least known how to deal with situations like this.”

“And Baratheon's Queen doesn't do him any favors with the smallfolk either, she doesn't leave the castle, sends her ladies to represent her with the charities, the orphanages,” Andric joined in as well, watching the clouds over Summerhall. “The Kingsguard is feared but aside from Ser Barristan, Ser Jaime and Ser Adrian, the people don't really hold respect for them. Jon Arryn is hated by the people, and the highborn folks either laugh about him by now or have despised him long since. It hasn't been looking good for the Iron Throne even before Corlyn started his tax attack, throwing a tourney in these times, it really is bad taste.”

“You got any idea what's going on in Arthur's head these days, aside from all the worry about Jon?” Oberyn asked before silence could fall, glancing over showed him how Andric grimaced up at the clouds. “He's never not taken suffering smallfolk right to the heart.”

“He's angry. He doesn't want to talk about it but he's angry,” Andric began quietly, didn't want to be overheard, “I would even go so far as to say that after all these years the part in him that was Rhaegar's man since childhood is experiencing a revival. And it's not because of Jon. I see Arthur's and even Aurane's face when another piece of news trickles in, and I can see what they are thinking. They wanna do something but they don't know how, and my brother doesn't deal well if pushed into a situation like that. He _always_ has been the people's knight.”

“None of us deal well with a situation like that,” Carral spoke up again as well and pushed a hand through his hair, Oberyn saw how tense he kept himself since leaving Dorne. He had tasked himself with looking after Andric because Andric was focusing one hundred percent on Arthur's well-being and the children. Oberyn knew that the Daynes were in the focus at this tourney, simply because of the King's interest in Jon and his hatred towards Arthur.

And Dorne had anonymously but unitedly decided to keep an eye on them, to give support, to protect. Andric was loved and respected, admired and feared, not the biggest house but Doran's best friend, his right hand, a move against him was a move against Doran, was a move against Dorne. Arthur was cherished and loved anyway, as were Ashara and the children, nothing would happen to them as long as Dorne was standing. In their eyes, they had once already nearly lost Arthur and Ashara to a King and a royal court, it wasn't going to happen a second time around.

Which didn't mean that the Daynes weren't on edge, and you didn't put that House on edge, as different as their personalities were, their loyalty to each other was something that had always stood out among the Dayne siblings. And threats only ever heightened it.

Ashara and Andric could lash out quickly but Oberyn was actually more concerned with Arthur's barely existent and always underestimated temper this time around.

“We have to keep an eye out for Arthur,” he said hence and propped himself up again a little so he could better look at Andric and Carral. “I know you're both doing it already anyway but I think you might just be blinded a little by brotherly concern and aren't seeing the real danger that could push Arthur over the edge. Yes, he's tense and concerned that someone might find out the truth about Jon, that Robert will see something or Jon Arryn but we also have to consider that Robert is still Rhaegar's murderer. And I can't imagine that there isn't a tiny bit still inside of him who wants revenge for that. He gave away the white cloak but he can't erase the Kingsguard from within himself completely. If we can manage to have Arthur keep his head about himself, we'll leave this place unharmed but back in the game.”

“And that's all I want, Oberyn.”

“Alright, then let's see how dinner is coming along,” Oberyn decided and as they picked themselves up from the ground again, he sent a look up to the sun slowly beginning to set for the day and sent a prayer up above.

'I'll protect their brother, dear sister. I'll protect Arthur and him, Elia.'

\--

The sword went low, sharp steel flashing in the light of the still rising sun, just barely brushing against leather when the greatsword sent steel crying out and the swordhand swinging left again.

“Don't hold back.”

“Keep your mouth shut and your elbow down.”

Another swing of the broadsword, quicker this time, going lower still but once more the greatsword barred the attack at the last minute.

“Alright, better, now get your head in the game as well.”

“My head is very much in the game, uncle!” Torrhen growled and went for another attack, this time sidestepping his uncle to swing from behind him but Arthur spun and had his sword blocked with Dawn all over again. Frustrated Torrhen dropped his swordhand and took a step back, scowling at his uncle who shrugged and smiled.

“Can't we just for once spar again without Dawn in your hands? Please.” Torrhen asked, not feeling below scowling like a child, it had been several moons now since Arthur had last had them spar without Dawn becoming this unmountable obstacle in Torrhen's path.

“No,” was his uncle's shortclipped answer and then he waved him back into position, “you have great skills, you have great instincts and a very much way too blown up confidence. I'm keeping... Dawn is keeping your feet _on the ground_.”

“Arthur, come on, let the boy have some fun,” Torrhen heard Andric call over from the sideline where he was watching them with Aurane, Oberyn and Richard. Rhaena had been there earlier as well still but she had walked off to find their mother some minutes ago. Jon had joined Elion and Tyene in a walk around the overgrown castle grounds.

“No,” Uncle Arthur called over to them, “I let Richard get away with the ego boosts when he defeated Rhaegar in the trainings yard and that never went away.” On the bench, Richard stopped sharpening his daggers and glared at Arthur. “He'll become a great swordsman but not someone who runs his mouth better than he swings his sword.”

“I'm starting to take insult,” Richard grumbled and Arthur took one hand off of Dawn to flip him the middle finger, an act Torrhen had only been waiting for. Quick as a snake he struck, sword raised almost quicker than the eye could see, left foot grounded stable on the ground to spin. Steel slammed broad side first against Arthur's chainmail chestplate and on the bench Aurane and Andric grimaced.

Arthur though smiled, shifting his stance to keep his balance, meeting Torrhen's eyes his smile grew at the wolfish grin he could no doubt see on his face.

“There is my nephew, was wondering where he had went, you were too good behaved,” Arthur noted and Torrhen rolled his eyes hard enough that it hurt a little.

“Was just a little preoccupied,” Torrhen explained and took his sword back, rolling his shoulders before getting back into position. “I keep waiting for Jon to snap but he's been so freakishly calm since the summon came. It's like knowing that he can't ignore it any longer just made him accept it.”

“He hasn't accepted anything, he just knows he can't avoid it,” his uncle put it into different words and Torrhen nodded, he hated being unable to help Jon figure things out when Jon kept his thoughts to himself. “He'll come to you when he needs it, you know that, Torre. Sometimes we have to let him think.” Arthur's reasoning was right but Torrhen still felt helpless, he could protect Jon from others, but it was difficult to protect him from the things that laid within. “And where we're at the topic already,” Arthur drew his attention back again, “it's honorable that you're so focused on protecting him, Torre, but you have to know your limits as well. And before you say anything,” Arthur also stopped Torrhen from interrupting right away, “knowing that they exist and knowing where they are at, those are two completely different things.”

“He's right, boy,” Oberyn joined as well, Torrhen lowered his swordhand even lower, realizing that this had turned into another kind of lesson. “We were young once, and the young ones think themselves invincible, think themselves stronger than everything the world could throw at them but you're not. Everyone has something that could break them. You're a good knight, you're a good protector, you're an even better brother but you need to keep an eye on yourself as well.”

“I know that I'm not invincible,” Torrhen told all of them, looking from one face to another, “trust me I've seen my limits and I know that the future will only show me more of them but that doesn't mean I'm gonna hold back. I swore to myself the moment I could hold a sword that I will protect my family, that no one is gonna come again and tear at them again like the Rebellion did.” Oberyn looked away and Richard set his eyes upon his daggers, even the newly arrived Benjen preferred to look at his shoes, only Andric and Arthur held his eyes. “I know what I'm doing. I know where my place is, I've known it for years, and I've given a lot of thought over it, even if people don't want to believe it at times. My place is right by Jon's side, so please stop trying to lure me away.”

“No one is luring you away,” Arthur disagreed and set Dawn into the dirt ground to come forward, a hand coming up to squeeze Torrhen's shoulder. “Everyone here respects the decision you made for yourself, we are glad that Jon has a protector as strong and dedicated as you but nowadays I see a lot of things in you that I once knew from myself. And I know how dedicated I was to Rhaegar, how easily I would have once accepted death if it meant keeping him safe. And Jon doesn't need _that_ kind of loyalty, that kind of protection. Just like Rhaegar didn't need it. Jon needs his protector and his brother. He'll always need **both**. And a whitecloak who is too dedicated to his duty, without even wearing white, he can't be a brother, too. Trust me, I've learned that lesson the hard way.”

“I won't let Jon down. And I won't let you down either.”

\--

“I always imagined it in a worse state,” Tyene said as they followed Elion along the pathway that led in a circle over what had once been lush and mesmerizing castle grounds no doubt, her arm wrapped around Jon's. “Sure it is overgrown and could use some serious work with a knife but it's still a beautiful place.” Blue eyes glanced over to him and Jon rolled his eyes, trust Ty to find the beauty in everything and still be practical about it. “Come on, you've been dying to see this place, gimme a little bit more than a smile and 'it's beautiful'.”

“It feels like I understand him more,” Jon relented and shared parts of the thoughts he had kept quiet so far, not because he was afraid someone wouldn't want to hear it. It was just private and though he trusted his family, his extended family and his friends, he still would have only considered telling this to a chosen few. His Pa and Aurane would have only carried that sad nostalgic smile though, and Jon preferred to see them truly happy. Torrhen would understand him, he had felt the same in Winterfell but Torrhen also got uncomfortable if Jon talked about feelings too much in recent moons. So Tyene it was. “He loved this place, everyone always tells me so. This stood for what was undeniably one of the darkest moments of Targaryen history but Rhaegar found freedom here.”

“See the good in the darkness,” Tyene offered up and Jon agreed with a hum, helping her cross over some rocky terrain as they continued to follow Elion. “He was a troubled man with a great many responsibilities and burdens upon his shoulders, maybe it was just something here that made it easy to forget it all for a while. You feel the same about the tower ruins, admit it. How many times have you ridden out there to just think because you knew you'd have a clear head there?” She smiled when he shrugged because he truly couldn't tell anymore. Squeezing his arm, Tyene went on, “maybe it's something about the place that you were born in that just makes everything easier.”

“Would you say the same thing about the sept in Goldengrove?”

“I sincerely doubt it,” Tyene laughed and bunched her skirts up higher to step off the trodden out path that Elion had wanted to show them. “I mean, I was born in hiding there just as much as you were at the tower but contrary to you my parents were not only not supposed to have children with each other, one of them wasn't supposed to have children at all. My birth was a scandal for Goldengrove, compared to that you're basically not worth mentioning.”

“Always know to keep my feet on the ground,” Jon joked but also chuckled because she had drawn him out of his head a little more. Torrhen and her had that in common, both of them didn't need any time or effort at all to have him smile again. “I just feel like something snapped into place since I arrived here. I've never felt like a Targaryen before.”

“Seriously?” Tyene laughed, loud enough that Elion stopped and turned around to wait for them, clearly wanting to know what was so funny. “Not felt like a Targaryen before? Somehow I feel like Starfyre is insulted right now.”

“I felt like a dragonrider before but...”

“A dragonrider who let that dragon fly off before actually flying on him.”

“A dragonrider none the less,” Jon insisted and Tyene stuck his tongue out at him, “which has nothing to do with feeling like a Targaryen at all. There were others, and you know it, dragons call to the blood of Valyria. But since I saw the ruins... it feels right to be here, like I can _feel_ history,” Jon tried to explain and looked over his shoulder back at the castle ruins as they caught up with Elion. “It's weird but I could almost tell you how the castle looked once, like that has been wired into my blood.”

“You've read a lot about it,” Elion supplied with a fond smile, he was still deeply worried about something, Jon could see that in his eyes, had been seeing it ever since they had left Dorne. He had asked Elion about it but the man who was grandfather for him didn't want to talk about it, said it wasn't important enough. Jon could only guess that it had to do with this journey, Elion had travelled out of the borders of his homeland since the Rebellion but it had always been for family.

He had gone to Driftmark, he had gone to Casterly Rock only recently to greet the future of House Lannister, he had gone to Essos but Jon knew just as well that Elion hadn't left Dorne in any official matters as a former Prince Consort since Harrenhall. It was bound to bring up unpleasant memories.

“It would have been difficult not to, I wanted something that would give me a connection to Rhaegar.” Jon told Elion and Tyene and turned to look over the destroyed western side of the castle. “I know that people see him in me, that this... issue with my head comes from him as well.” Tyene leaned against him and Jon briefly squeezed her arm in gratitude for that small gesture. “But all of that are experiences and observations other people made with him, of him, and now with me. Being here now, seeing this place that he loved so much and feeling completely the same, that's my experience. It's just mine. And right now I can really use that.”

“It's gonna be okay, you know that,” Tyene tried to be positive as always and Jon looked down at her with a smile.

“I'm not worried about the tourney, I know that everything is gonna be alright.” Jon assured her of his own beliefs concerning their situation, he trusted in the people who were there to protect him and stay by his side. He had other concerns that occupied his thoughts these days. “I'm just thinking too much again.”

“You sure you're okay, Jon?”

Upon Elion's softly placed question Jon looked over to him, though many of the other men in his life still had that small tiny height difference to him, Jon had grown taller than Elion a few moons back. It had been an almost scary revelation to him upon his latest visit to Sunspear, this man who had been grandfather, teacher and mentor to him in so many ways, this man who was so strong and larger than life itself in his wisdom and understanding, suddenly he was smaller in physical height.

Suddenly Jon had to slightly look down when talking to him face to face.

It hadn't felt right.

“Do you remember when you told me that if that moment ever came I would just know?” He knew his question wasn't easy to crack but Elion still got it after a moment, even Tyene blinked and then got a bit more serious in her expressions. When Elion nodded, Jon went on, “You also told me that I shouldn't make my decision based on circumstances that worry me, you especially told me that my decisions shouldn't be based on the suffering of others otherwise I would carry that burden into my grave still. And I see what you mean now, enduring the suffering of others, of innocents when you know that you can make a difference but also grave mistakes.”

“Those who rule are faced with difficult choices and there will always be those opposing them, no matter what path they choose to follow,” Elion gave what he had told Jon years earlier, Tyene was watching them both now. “But trying and failing to make a difference is very often easier to overcome than never trying at all. Regret is a dangerous emotion but 'what ifs' can drive people to madness. I was never responsible for Dorne but I sat by Loreza and I sat by Doran as they made decisions that weren't easy.”

“I made my decision,” Jon surprised them both in the next moment, Elion blinked and straightened up, Tyene tensed in anticipation, and maybe it hurt a little that he had to disappoint them still. “I know what I want for my future, know which path I'm gonna follow but I won't tell you yet. I told Torrhen, the night after we met Lady Daena Rogare, and for now he's gonna remain the only one, until I'm ready to have all of you know.”

“And we'll wait,” Elion promised him and smiled, reaching out to cup Jon's face for a moment, “we'll wait and we'll respect your decision, in whatever direction it may lead. And now, come you two, I asked Lucerys for directions to the memorial plates, I'd like to pay my respects. He may have caused his house and his kingdom a great tragedy but he was the son of a Dornish mother and I'd like to pay my respects.”

\--

“Lord Stark?”

Ned looked away from where he had been mending another argument between Sansa and Arya since arriving at the tourney grounds two days ago. He straightened up when he spotted the man in the seagreen tunics and black pants waiting patiently maybe three steps away from the outside area of the Stark tents. Sharp blue eyes gave his daughters a gentle smile as Sansa and Arya curtsied for him, the Lord of Driftmark, Corlyn Velaryon.

Ned had been in contact with him before, married as his heir was to one of the North's wealthiest Lord's granddaughters.

Said heir was also standing right at his father's right side, a strapping lad of seven and ten who looked like a complete copy of his father.

“Lord Velaryon, it is an honor to finally have a chance to meet you,” Ned greeted the other man and shook his hand, extending the same to Vaemon Velaryon as well. Manderly had praised heaps and heaps onto the boy the last time Ned had gotten together with his bannermen, which had been only about a two moons after Wynafryd Manderly had married the heir to Driftmark.

Heir to the man who was currently on a path to reach Tywin Lannister like influence of power and intimidation over the small council.

“The same goes for me,” Lord Corlyn told him just as behind him another man came walking over, taller than him but his face still giving away to an experienced eye that he was the man's brother. This was Jacaerys Velaryon then, Jon had written about him, his skills in arms and the golden rings around his wrist. Ned didn't know what to make of him, Arthur had written about hesitance despite being relieved over seeing a cousin again whom everyone had thought lost.

Jacaerys was a great warrior but the Golden Company had never been a great friend of Westerosi Lords and Ladies.

Nevertheless the return of the lost son had made Corlyn only the more powerful, people now fearing his ire would let consequences of the sword follow.

More greetings followed when Robb, Domeric and Alys returned, bringing along Wynafryd Velaryon and a silverblond boy of about Sansa's age with a young girl at his arm who could only be Lady Shireen Baratheon. The kids quickly found common ground and as quick as they had appeared they were off again, gone to explore the tourney grounds, Ned could only hope that between Robb and Vaemon they wouldn't lose a single sibling or entrusted ward. And he hoped as well that Robb and Domeric might befriend the older Vaemon, it was always good to have the future be on good terms with each other.

“I was wondering if we could talk for a moment,” Corlyn asked once they were alone with the man's brother and the direwolves of Ned's children. Greywind, Lady and Nymeria were stretched out in the tent entrance but neither Velaryon brother showed any fear of them, they had met the ones in Dorne anyway and according to Jon's letters Torrhen's Shadow might have since grown bigger than his Northern siblings, too.

“Of course,” Ned agreed and waved them over to the table and chairs outside in the sun, for some Southerners Storm's End and its lands around it were considered cold and too windy to find pleasure in sitting outside but for the Starks this was almost too hot already. And he doubted the Velaryons would see it any different, islanders were rough in nature.

“I see your wife has not come with you?” Corlyn wanted to know when they were all sitting, around them the bannermen who had accompanied Ned South were still mostly setting up.

“No, there must always be a Stark in Winterfell,” Ned explained and Corlyn inclined his head in understanding, “my wife has chosen to remain behind with our younger sons. Has your wife come along, my Lord?”

“Indeed she has, though she preferred today to remain with my father and my daughter in our corner of camp,” Corlyn finished that opening round of smalltalk, his brother remained silent, eyes flickering around, he was vigilant. “I came here to talk to you about Jon, Lord Stark. I believe there are some things you might want to hear, things that if handled in the wrong hands could be alarming.”

So Ned learned about the dragon hiding right under Robert's nose at a time where he really would have appreciated to not have more burdens set upon his shoulders. It had taken years for Robert to truly forgive him that he had hidden Arthur Dayne's existence and Lyanna's son from him, and now their friendship was strong again, strong and as it once had been. Strong enough that the secrets Ned was carrying still were tearing at his insides at times, he didn't want even more, not when Jon was going to come face to face with Robert in only a few days.

A lot was riding on this tourney for Robert, to appease the critics and appease the loud voices in the smallfolk especially, and Ned could only hope that this spectacle would achieve it for him. Robert had an heir now, finally a healthy boy who was curious and smart and strong, he needed to get his kingdom back into stability, he needed the people to like him again, to respect him again even more.

The last thing he would need was a snake hiding right in his own home who would topple what he was fighting so hard to built up again.

“I hope you realize what is riding on this, Lord Stark.” Corlyn said when the brothers were about to depart again. “This is not about standing on Jon's side or Robert's side, this is not about any decisions or opinions concerning who should rightfully sit that throne. This is about protecting Westeros from people who have never held a right to any of it. Varys has his nets spun over too many places, this demands delicacy and secrecy, not an open revolt.” Ned inclined his head but he was torn as he watched the Velaryons leave.

Robert deserved to know.

But leading Robert towards the knowledge about a surviving line of dragons, even if black instead of red, would entail the risk of him finding about Jon in the long run. And Ned couldn't risk it, the boy needed to be protected, especially because it looked like Jon might just not look towards the throne anyway, no word he had written Ned about any thoughts concerning his birthright. But Jon also had the whole of Dorne and Corlyn Velaryon's net to protect him, Robert's son didn't have the same.

Who was gonna protect that little boy in a court filled with secret traps?

\--

Jon stopped his horse when the forest ended and they were able to lay eyes on Storm's End in the distance, Torrhen reigned his mare to an abrupt halt once he realized his cousin had stopped.

“Hey, you okay? Did Leila drop a shoe?” Torrhen looked down at the hooves of the brown mare whom Jon was riding for this journey because Caraxes was to be rested for the squire jousting. Leila showed no signs of misplaced shoes, was on the contrary standing steady on all four legs and patiently awaiting her rider's next command. “Jon? You with me?” Torrhen lost his confusion and set his face into a frown, nudging his horse forward a little still so he could take a look at Jon's face.

Jon's ashen grey face.

Jon's entirely panic frozen face.

A whistle summoned the wolves who had been vanishing into the forest whenever a critter had made noise. Ghost and Shadow looped out of the trees not far from where they had stopped on this outlook position. Here in this greenery of the Stormlands, like they had previously already in the Reach, both of them stuck out against their backgrounds.

At least during the day. In the night, Shadow disappeared everywhere, becoming nothing more than his own name, while Ghost had been able to hide in the snow of the North and was still able to disappear in the snowy white sand of Dorne's coast or the heat induced shimmering sanddunes of the desert.

Right now though both wolves couldn't have been more obvious but Torrhen saw that nothing in Jon still moved so he reached over and took ahold of his cousin's wrist, digging his fingernails into soft skin.

“Jon!”

And his sharp yell finally brought a reaction forth as Jon's eyes got even wider and his head snapped to the side to stare at Torrhen.

“I can't do this.” Jon blurted out and he was pale enough that Torrhen was afraid he might start swooning and hence falling off his horse. He shifted his hold on Jon's wrist to further up his arm, going from 'getting attention' to stabilizing.

“You can't do what?” Torrhen asked as well, frowning even deeper when Jon seemed to pale even more, he looked around over his shoulder but there wasn't even the sound of hooves yet. “Hey, talk to me.”

And the gates of panic broke.

“I can't do this,” Jon was breathing so fast so suddenly that Torrhen could barely understand him, “I can't do this, I can't ride down there and face those people. I can't just... I'll be looking at them and I'd be waiting to see if they see something. And what if they do? What if anyone sees something in me or in what I do and they think of them?” Them being the Targaryen heritage, Torrhen flipped through his mind to find something to do to calm Jon down again.

Leila was getting anxious by now, Ghost was whining and trying to get closer to his master which only started to rile up the horse. Shadow was prowling around them, looking for threats, looking for anything that could have upset his pack so, which in turn only agitated Torrhen's mare because she was reacting to the warning. And Jon was still going.

“I could endanger everyone in my family, every single one of our friends. The Usurper has shown again and again that he still wants to burn everything just touched by dragons to the very ground if only someone would let him, and my very blood... the very dragon... He'll find out the truth and then he'll make sure everyone who knew will be taken down along with him and I can't endanger my family like this, I can't do this. I can't DO this, Torrhen.” Jon was lost, this was the breakdown that Torrhen had been expecting after the royal summon had arrived in Starfall, only it had never come.

Jon had been so calm and so excited for the tourney and Torrhen had been so godsdamn blind.

Decision made he swung himself off his horse and trusted her to not run off straight away, he pulled Jon off his horse because a panicking rambling Jon was someone who followed Torrhen's tugs and pulls like a puppet. He snatched up Leila's reign when the mare made to bolt away from the tension, Caraxes would have seriously done a better job right then. He led cousin and horse over to a rock on the side of the road, made sure Jon was sitting down with Ghost pressed up against him before Torrhen stepped over to the closest tree and bound Leila to it.

Jon was stuck in whatever circle of worst outcome he had envisioned now, Torrhen had unfortunately been in this situation often enough in the weeks between Starfyre's departure and their trip to Pentos to know that even his hands were useless in situations like these.

There was only one person who could get through to Jon right now.

“I'll be right back,” he promised Jon was who bend over and kept a hand pressed over his heaving chest, “just hold on for three more minutes.” It broke his heart to turn his back on Jon but he needed to ride to the others himself, he couldn't send Shadow, that wasn't the kind of message a wolf could bring. If he sent Shadow his uncles would only think that they had been attacked and a storm of riders was the last thing Jon needed right then. He gave a whistle for Shadow and the black wolf's head swivelled around to look at him. “Guard,” was the only command Torrhen needed and Shadow turned even more tense, ears going up for every small sound.

Torrhen jogged back to Mila and swung himself into the saddle, chasing her off into a fast gallop before he was even properly sitting.

\--

Jon could only see the many ways his family, his friends, people he barely knew, could die because Robert Baratheon found out the truth.

Robert would make him wait, would keep him for almost last.

He would kill everyone before Jon, leave only his Pa and then kill Jon in front of him. Maybe Jon would die like Aegon, brutal but fast. Or the Usurper would do it like the Old Lion's other dirty little hyena had done it, stab Jon to death like his sister had died from.

He would crush them all.

And Jon would be unable to do anything to stop him.

\--

“Uncle!”

Arthur had known plenty of times what a heart stopping felt like but it still was as unpleasant as it had been the very first time, as he now watched Torrhen come racing up the road. Hair flying, face looking frantic, and no Jon in sight. The boys had ridden up ahead to scout out the road behind the forest and to have the wolves stretch their legs.

“Torrhen, what are you doing alone?” Arthur called out when Andric motioned for the riders to call a stop back down the line, Torrhen brought his horse to a halt, both panting. “Where is Jon?”

“I don't know what happened.” Torrhen answered him quickly, eyes wide and worried and Arthur's heart settled into the pits of his stomach, he had been fearing this. “He saw the castle and just... just went away. All he says is 'I can't do this'.”

“Andric?” Arthur wanted to know from his brother but didn't even look at him, just already resettled himself in the saddle, picking up the reigns for faster pacing.

“I got this, go,” Andric told him and Arthur barely heard anymore how he gave further instructions to Torrhen, “Torrhen, ride and find Benjen and then take him to Jon and your uncle.” All that counted now was to get to Jon and help.

The forest flew by him as he urged his horse into an even faster gallop, bursting past the treeline and onto the open terran from which one could see Storm' End in the distance, and from which one could also see the hunched figure sitting on a rock. Protected by the ever watchful direwolves. Arthur hurried to swing himself down from his horse and bind it to a tree so he could then rush past Shadow still keeping a sharp eye on their surroundings.

Jon was breathing fast into his hands, having buried his face behind them, Ghost sitting pushed up against his side, whining quietly in his helplessness to help his master. Jon gave an almost violent full body twitch when Arthur sank to his knees before him and touched his leg, “hey, hey, it's me. It's just Pa, you're okay. You're safe.”

“Pa, I can't do this, I just can't do this,” Jon was stuttering and breathing too fast and clearly stuck in panic and whatever frenzy his head had fallen into. “I can't...”

“Hey, look at me, just look at me,” Arthur encouraged his boy, because five or five and ten, or five and twenty, this was his son, the problems got bigger but the comfort only grew with it. Jon reluctantly raised his head and met his eyes, showing violet panic and fear and a storm of insecurity. “Now, we're gonna breathe. Together. You and me. Nothing else matters right now,” Arthur emphasized when Jon opened his mouth to clearly speak, “just breathe with me.” Wanting to further help in calming him down, Arthur moved one hand to lightly press it against Jon's chest, just enough to have the pressure be felt through the travel armor.

Shakingly Jon took a breath, then a deeper one and Arthur didn't overexercise his own breaths anymore when Jon didn't sound like he was actively forcing air into his lungs.

“There we are, I got you,” Arthur soothed him and moved both hands up now to frame Jon's face in them, gently stroking thumbs over pale cheekbones. “Just keep breathing, alright? I got you, I know it's overwhelming right now but you're gonna be okay. We're gonna sit here until you can talk, if that means we have to catch up to the others later, it doesn't matter but we're not gonna continue until you feel better.”

“Pa, I can't...”

“Hey, hey, easy, slowly. You're safe, you're okay, nothing is gonna happen, there is no danger around,” Arthur continued to remain calm, even if it was hard in sight of Jon's obvious panic and distress. He had known for a while already how his father had to have felt all these years ago when Arthur had been the child fighting invisible monsters. It made one so helpless, unable to defeat an enemy that was tormenting your child. “Let me speak first. I knew this was coming, you've been way too calm about this whole process.” Arthur told Jon who looked at him out of those terrified eyes, “I expected anger and disgust, was prepared to talk your temper down.”

Because the boy had it, as he had grown and childhood had slowly given away to the beginnings of young manhood, Jon had shown that he had his parents' temper after all, even if a moderated version of it. Winterfell and sleezy Lady Dustin had been hit by a taste of it already, but just like his cousins Jon could snarl as well, he just preferred not to. And in recent years he had learned to spit fire as well if riled up enough, a feat that usually only Torrhen could achieve when it looked like for him that Jon was eating everything up again instead of expressing it.

“When I didn't see it I waited for reluctant acceptance and princely dignity that Elion taught you so well,” Jon gave a tiny flicker of a smile to that. Elion had barely needed to teach him anything, Jon just acted like that by instinct already. “But that didn't come either, so I just knew that it was fear and that at some point you were gonna burst.” Hooves could be heard approaching but Arthur kept Jon's face turned only towards him, considering that Shadow didn't start growling it were only Torrhen and Benjen anyway.

“What if something happens, Pa? What if there is something that we can't see right now that will give the truth away?” Jon wanted to know and Arthur knew what to say only because he had had the same conversation with Aurane about a dozen of times since leaving Dorne's borders at their backs. They had plans, they had strategies. All worked out with Andric, Oberyn and Doran again, plans approved by Corlyn and Jace.

“What if nothing happens?” He said hence and Jon blinked at him, he was calming down but he was still on edge, “just think about that for a second. What if nothing happens? What if stepping in front of the king will end after a couple of minutes because he'll see that you're just a boy, and no great mystery? What if this will just be a great tourney without scandals or drama and your fear will only keep you from enjoying it all?”

He let Jon think for a moment.

It was potentially the one thing that set Jon and Torrhen so much apart that they just needed different treatment in many ways. If distressed, if scared, if hurt, Jon needed time to think, he needed time to be alone with his thoughts and feelings. Comfort helped him but it also choked him, one could only help him along to get back on the right track but especially when hurt Jon needed time to process alone. Torrhen on the other hand needed full time distraction, needed to be kept busy, needed to be kept out of his own hand in those situations.

Giving Jon this moment to collect himself in the presence of someone where he could find strength to not slip away, Arthur looked around and nodded for Benjen and Torrhen to come over.

“Are there plans again?” Jon asked after a good amount of silence had gone past, looking from Torrhen to Arthur and then to Benjen and back at Arthur again. “If something goes wrong? Are there plans again like there were when you were summoned to court, Pa?”

“There are,” Arthur confirmed, “but that is nothing that you need to concern yourself with. Right now you are still only my son and...” but Jon interrupted him, politely but still an act of rebellion that Arthur had seen more often now, the boy was becoming a man.

“If Robert sees or somehow finds out the truth, then I won't be just your son anymore,” Jon mentioned rightfully and his eyes got that look again. The one he carried since Pentos, the one Arthur didn't _want_ to understand yet, even though he completely did. “If we need to run, if those plans fall into action then I can no longer be Jon Dayne and we all know it, so please. Please tell me what those plans entail.”

“Lys. It includes Lys, a Magister's protection and a dragon.” Arthur summarized it as briefly and quickly as possible, Jon let it sink in.

“You kept in contact with Magister Nero.”

“I like backup plans,” Arthur agreed with those words because even after they had settled back into Dorne, Arthur had never for even a second let himself think that he could sleep without having an escape. Not even after the royal pardon. “You know just as well as me the kind of power that Lady Daena holds in her hands, the kind of power that her goodson holds. We've never met the man but he can hide us. If everything falls apart, he can protect us. Is that enough for you?”

“For now,” Jon gave in, he would ask for details later, and judging by the glances Torrhen and him were exchanging then there was going to be some sub-plan developed as well in the next day still. “Thank you, Pa.”

“A good man knows he has weaknesses, a great man doesn't shy away from experiencing them without being ashamed by it,” Arthur recided a lesson that had once been given by him by a great man. “You wanna know who told me that once?” Both boys nodded, even Benjen looked interested. “Ser Harlan Grandison, he was a Kingsguard who died before Harrenhall. He was an old man already when I joined but what he couldn't show me in tricks anymore, he could give in wisdom. You're gonna be okay, Jon.”

“I know.”

“Now,” Arthur stood up and pulled Jon back to his feet, settled warm hands on his shoulders, “you get yourself back in order. And then Torre and you will take the wolves hunting one more time, just the two of you.” Arthur nearly ordered them both but Torrhen would have to hear the warning to keep a close eye on Jon from here on on like they had previously talked about and Jon would need strict directions now until he had his head together again. “Drag the time out a little so you'll slip onto the tourney grounds after the Dornish envoy got greeted.”

“But the King...”

“You have two great beasts who need to be fed before we can let them loose on a tourney ground,” Benjen jumped in before Arthur could. “There can't be a better excuse. He will get to see you soon enough still.”

\--

Jaime had always loved tourneys, as a child or even later as a Kingsguard, that joy had never left him, the thrill of it all, the excitement of the crowds. He could never get enough of it, and maybe the people hadn't cheered on him since he had killed Aerys but Jaime had finally reached a point again where he felt good in his own skin and he wanted to prove that he could still hold his own.

With support from the crown's coffers Lordling Renly had gone all out and organized a tourney that was more fit to host a King's grand nameday than the third one of a little Crown Prince who wouldn't remember any of it at all in a week anyway. But that wasn't Jaime's issue, tasked as he was with the Crown Prince's safety for this tourney, he had a lot of free time because a three year old didn't move around freely that much still, and Queen Delena usually kept him around herself anyway.

So Jaime had chosen to wander across the tourney grounds, it wouldn't start officially until noon in two days and the Dornish hadn't even arrived yet but the grounds were filled with people from all over Westeros already anyway. He paid a visit to the Westerlander corner of the camp first, talked with some of his brother's bannermen who had come to represent their kingdom where their Lord had chosen to remain behind at Casterly Rock.

Jaime had been maybe a little sad over Tyrion's absence, even though he had honestly not expected anything else, the twins were only a few moons old yet and neither they nor Anyta could travel such a long distance without risking their health. And a new father didn't want to leave them alone for so long either. Addam was there though and Jaime talked with his old friend for a while before Addam went to sign up for the melee and Jaime continued on.

He saw how the Reach had of course appeared with almost all banners again, the Tyrells had came in full numbers, Willas Tyrell passed by him with his sister on his arm and his brother leading his wife along as they walked towards the tourney sign ups, too. Baelor Hightower was wrangling his children while his father was talking to Lord Tarly. He greeted familiar faces from court and walked among the camp until a hand slammed down on his shoulder in a not so gentle manner.

Grunting, Jaime turned around, rolling his eyes in the next moment when he found Adrian having snuck up on him. “Off duty already?” He asked his fellow brother in white who fell into step with him then, around them the banners turned from Stormlanders to Crownlands Houses. And when dark hair got replaced by more and more specks of whiteblond and silverwhite Jaime groaned because he realized where Adrian had pulled him with his steps.

The very heart of the Crownlands camp.

And with it the seagreen and white banners of House Velaryon.

Traditionally it was of course the Iron Throne who ruled directly over the Crownlands but the islanders and mainland Houses had turned their grievances towards Driftmark since the fall of the Targaryens. Lord Corlyn held their trust and toppled the Small Council into a nervous breakdown about every fortnight now.

“Jace!”

Because of _that_ one.

Adrian was grinning bright right next to Jaime when his call stopped the tall man with the bound back silverblond hair who was leading two young girls out of a tent. Lady Shireen was given away by the mark on her cheek, the other girl held the same eyes as her grandfather and younger uncle, Lady Alyssa Velaryon, Corlyn's only daughter.

Jacaerys Velaryon, the prodigal son who returned a former Company Captain, gave a roughish grin as they met in the middle, both girls dipped into a curtsy. “If it isn't cousin Adrian.”

“If it isn't the man who just likes to rile up the entire Seven Kingdoms,” Adrian quipped right back, shaking the offered hand, “couldn't even come back quietly, had to make an entrance.” Adrian chuckled and nodded to the golden rings that stood out among the light armor and seagreen tunic that Aurane's older brother was wearing.

Something curdled inside of Jaime at the side of it, something that screamed mistrust and threat, you couldn't have been a Kingsguard of Aerys' Great Seven without hearing Barristan or Gerold or Jonothor talk about the War of the Ninepenny Kings, without listening to Gerold talk about his childhood and living in the constant threat of another Blackfyre rebellion. Or Arthur's stories that had been carried down the line in House Dayne, the family who had nearly gone extinct because they had been fighting on the first line of attack for the Targaryens back then.

Everyone had breathed a sigh of relief when the Blackfyres had been gone for good, because with it the eye of the Golden Company had turned away from Westeros as well. For good. No one needed to ever see golden sails approach Westerosi shores ever again, and people suddenly coming back to Westeros after they had fought for gold, it never promised anything good.

“Jace, I believe you've never met Ser Jaime.”

“We did actually,” Jacaerys disagreed, all sharp smiles and smart eyes, Jaime wrecked his memory for any interaction he might have heard with the older man. “Though we didn't talk but I saw him around court back in the day, a little time before I left.”

“I must admit I don't hold a memory of you, Ser,” Jaime told him with a smile that was maybe only half forced as they shook hands briefly. “It might have gotten overshadowed by Aurane.”

“Ah, yes, my little brother has always had a great skill in taking light away from me,” Jacaerys chuckled but it held no ill will, the kind of acceptance over being placed second best that big brothers knew well. “Ladies, will you not introduce yourselves to the good Kingsguard.” Bright-haired Alyssa Velaryon stepped up first and she was all quiet confidence and graceful curtsy, whereas Shireen Baratheon was a little more clumsy still and kept her eyes from looking up at them, shyness coloring her face faintly red.

“You joining the lists?” Adrian wanted to know after his cousin had sent the ladies ahead already with a household guard, Jacaerys laughed.

“You wanna fight me, Adrian, you're gonna have to join the melee. I'm no prince or a whitecloak, the lists are for fancy folks.” Jacaerys replied and Jaime would have felt insulted if he didn't see the mischief in green eyes.

“Don't let Arthur hear that, you might get your ass kicked into the dirt,” Adrian snickered and waved to more people around them, the people respected him, he had easily taken over most popular within the Kingsguard. He was young, good, charming like Oswell but with Arthur's gentleness. “With him sitting blindfolded on a horse no less.”

“Arthur has been more princely and honorable than every Prince or Kingsguard in the last century together probably, he can have his jousting,” Jacaerys snorted at the end of his sentence. “And anyway, if he were to join the melee, no one else would anymore, and I like some fighting once in a while.”

As they said their goodbyes for now then to keep walking, Jaime's thoughts were stuck on Arthur though, because this tourney marked the first time that Arthur was really returning to the public eye, the first time he would attend a tourney since Harrenhall. And with his son along no less, that boy who would be introduced to King Robert on royal decree. Jaime didn't know if nervous was the right way to describe his state of mind concerning the whole thing.

Especially because the Dornish were being led by Prince Oberyn Martell and that alone prompted Jaime to raise nervous to alarmed.

Jaime didn't want anything to happen at this tourney or with their situation in general, the tension in King's Landing was already worse enough, he didn't want to feel it choking him again in other places as well. Present issues were enough even without old grudges, but with the Martells, the Daynes and the Velaryons now stepping onto the platform as well, Robert had to prove himself for the first time in front of the entire Seven Kingdoms.

Was he a King or still the man who slew Prince Rhaegar on the battlefield and got a crown handed for it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect the next chapter around New Year's. Got a long winter break from work this year, will have lots of time to write.


	3. Dorne's Rise From The Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I could of course tell so many scenes from this tourney because a lot of people are there and a lot of things could be happening but then I would never finish writing this. I chose the chapter plot to tell the story I wanna tell, and that means some sideplots fall under the cutting board or just get hinted at. Please forgive me.

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard watched as the Dornish rode past the tourney gates, bright colorful clothes under colorful sigils on flags. He made out Arthur and Andric immediately, riding on either side of Prince Oberyn, and though they kept their eyes straight ahead, he knew that they saw everything and everyone. Behind them the Dornish envoy siddled into the large courtyard and Barristan had to bite back a smile when Lord Stannis and Lord Arryn both scowled upon catching sight of just how many had come, there were banners from seemingly every Dornish House. Young Renly merely looked curious, standing right next to the Hand of the King in his position as the Lord offering his lands.

Barristan only felt surprise when he saw former Prince Consort Elion Gargalen ride in between Benjen Stark and a girl who could only be Prince Oberyn's oldest daughter for how much she resembled her father. He hadn't seen the man outside of Dorne since his daughter's wedding to Prince Rhaegar in King's Landing, and this surely was not just some Dornish envoy.

_This_ was Dorne's open return to the game of thrones.

Proven especially when Prince Oberyn dismounted his horse but waited until his father had joined him before he walked forward to greet Lord Renly, Arthur and Benjen Stark accompanying them like honor guards, decked out in full ceremonial armor. The silver cloak of the Sword of the Morning was so pale that it was nearly white, especially in this bright sunlight.

All on purpose.

As the greetings commenced, Barristan observed the other Lords, inclined his head to Andric, Aurane and Richard and smiled when he saw Ashara look out of a wheelhouse further back. He supposed her beautiful daughter was with her, but he doubted that Torrhen would have confined himself to a wheelhouse. Alas he couldn't see the boy anywhere among the Lords, Knights, heirs and squires waiting for their Prince and former Prince Consort to be dismissed so they could built up camp. Neither could he see any boy roughly the same age who could be the son of Arthur Dayne, he would have expected the lad to ride with his cousin Edric but the only boy in Dayne colors was curiously looking around, quietly talking with Prince Quentyn Martell and an Yronwood.

And then the greeting was done, Renly looking positively burning red and Barristan bit back a sigh and then a surprised chuckle when instead of joining the others Arthur walked over to him while the other three waved the caravan into motion, getting back on their horses themselves, Andric taking his brother's horse. Aurane lingering behind until Arthur waved him off. Barristan shook Arthur's hand, “Good to see you again. You left your first squire and your boy at home then?” Arthur snorted in response before laughing.

“I think the realm itself would have turned on its head before that happened. They have both been looking forward to this tourney for moons. No, they let the wolves hunt one last time before coming here.” Arthur explained and flicked Barristan's hand away from the cloak with a scowl, clearly uncomfortable in this flashy thing.

And right, the wolves. Barristan supposed that small black pup he had seen those days in the Kingswood would be a grown wolf by now. He had only caught a glimpse of the wolves who had arrived with the Starks.

And then a little commotion at the tourney gates, some people gasping as the two riders made an entrance, framed on either side by two huge...beasts.

“My goodness.” He couldn't help but gasp himself as the riders approached them after a few looks had been sent around. He recognized Torrhen immediately, grown into a young man, face still smooth but his hair pulled back like Lord Stark had it himself, wearing travel clothes in dark grey, not needing any clothes to outshine those eyes and smirk. Shoulders even broader, limbs defined by muscles for good now, steel sword strapped to his side, sharp steel no doubt, the boy was five and ten after all. The black pup from Barristan's memories came up to the horse's shoulder already, head cocked to the side as he looked around.

And then next to him, Jon Dayne.

The first time that he got to lay eyes on Arthur's boy.

Dressed in fine black clothes with intricate violet stitching, Jon was stroking a hand over the head of the pure white wolf having sat back on its heels right next to his horse, gleaming red eyes turned up to watch its master. He was tall, the boy, lean and almost skinny still, all Arthur when it came to height. Skin pale, not even tanned, on his head a shock of black curls, still messed up by the wind. His longish face and thin lips was all his mother.

As the boy looked up though and then over to them, Barristan's breath caught in his throat when he saw those violet eyes that were similar to his father's, similar to his aunt's and his cousins', but oh so much sharper and capable of pinning you down with just one look.

Eyes he had seen before.

On a Targaryen Princess who had become Lady of Driftmark.

\--

“Holy,” it escaped Barristan when he wrapped Torrhen into an embrace, which was more the boy wrapping him into strong arms. He had grown much more than Barristan had at first guessed at seeing him upon that horse, the kid was taller than him now. He clapped both hands upon the boy's back and then drew back so he could grab a strong chin in one hand and turn Torrhen's face into better light. “You've grown like a tree and filled out like a bear. What do they feed you in Dorne?”

Torrhen laughed, head thrown back and grin lighting up his whole face, at least that was still very much familiar. He had grown up so much.

“Only the best,” Torrhen smirked and his ego had certainly not suffered any setbacks for good, “it's more because of what uncle pushes me through.” Torrhen cheekily explained and sent a look over to Arthur who rolled his eyes, looking proud nevertheless. Oh, it felt so good to see the boy again, Barristan very well knew that it had taken some time back then until he had no longer felt the pain of watching Ashara and the children ride away.

His heart had suddenly wanted something that it hadn't in all the decades before.

Fur brushed up against his right side and he hoped it didn't show how his heart beat a little faster as he stroked a hand over the back of the black direwolf whose head was now as large as his entire being had been when Barristan had last seen him. Shadow pushed himself into the touch, showing familiarity. His white brother had not moved from his own master's side, watching their surroundings with attentive red eyes.

It was so mesmerizing to see these creatures, especially Shadow whom Barristan had last seen as a pup of less than a year, still not grown into too big paws, tumbling around more than he was running. And now the wolf was taller than a pony and sharper eyes than an eagle, and nothing about him was clumsy anymore, this was a predator with pure muscles beneath all that fur.

“He knows you still,” Torrhen noted with not a little amount of glee and then his head swung around and he looked over to the other youth who had so far remained standing on Arthur's left side. He had walked there quietly after getting off his horse, Barristan had come close to forgetting about him in the bright light that Torrhen shone upon the world.

Arthur's son.

Who didn't look unhappy in the shadow of his older cousin at all.

Quite on the contrary, there was a small smile on the boy's gentle face, sharp cheekbones that framed those intelligent eyes. Eyes that made him look older than he was, four and ten if Barristan did his numbers correctly. Beneath that sharp intelligence and an attention that wouldn't miss a single thing, those violet eyes also showed a kindness and a great heart, something that was so essentially Arthur.

He was dressed up perfectly, not a button or string out of line, not a speck of dirt on him, just like Barristan had known it from Arthur when he had been that age. A flawless appearance just as important as manners portrayed on a daily basis.

And that the latter held true to his son as well showed when Torrhen took a step back and young Jon approached, a hand got outstretched to Barristan without any hesitance or shyness. “It's an honor to meet you, Lord Commander. My father and Torrhen have told me a lot about you.”

“It's an honor for me as well,” Barristan gave the sentiment right back and he couldn't tell what it was but there was something in that kid's eyes that just seemed to determine him for something grander than he held himself to at the moment.

Maybe even something grander than he truly wanted for himself.

And that made Barristan think of Rhaegar strangely enough, but then again he hadn't actually seen Arthur a lot in the last fourteen years, it was only natural that he brought up associations with Rhaegar still, as inseparable as they had once been.

“I have heard great things about you,” he told the boy as well who looked slightly uncomfortable under that praise whereas Torrhen seemed to grow for him almost. “And I see the humbleness got given over to the next generation, like father, like son, very admirable. You drank some of that same wine yet, Torre?”

“Haha.” Torrhen grumbled out but also was quick to smile again as usual when Barristan a little roughly pulled him to his side, keeping an arm around those broad shoulders. The boy was no boy anymore, not really. But as he found the kid looking up at him with the same glowing spark in those violet eyes, his mother's eyes, Barristan also knew that thankfully enough some part of Torrhen was still the kid who had laughed and trained with him in the Kingswood. “You're jousting, right?” Torrhen wanted to know then and Barristan nodded, “your squire gotten any more reliable?”

“No,” Barristan sighed and threw a glance up in the sky, he wasn't even sure why he had said yes to the Reacher boy in the first place, it had been a good two months after he had met Torrhen and his mind had only been able to think 'I want that boy', not the strawcolor-haired boy who always forgot everything and never properly finished a task given to him.

“If Uncle drops out early, I can help you,” Torrhen proposed and then laughingly evaded the rock Arthur kicked in his direction.

“I have no intention to drop out early and you'll be right at my side, nephew.”

Even Jon laughed upon that and Barristan just somehow felt it that these boys had a good path ahead of them. They had their hearts and their minds in the right place, the Daynes had taught them well.

\--

“Uncle Arthur!”

He had just about enough time to turn around and stretch out a hand so Arya wouldn't crash head first against his armor, instead he could swing her up and cash in the hug she enthusiastically gave him. For about five seconds before she squirmed out of his arms again, hugged Torrhen in that way that showed she had just about remembered he was family, too, before she threw herself at Jon and squeezed all air from his lungs.

Barristan watched the show with a smile at Arthur's side, a smile that wavered a little when the grey wolf snarled in greeting at her bigger brothers. Shadow and Ghost were only too happy to show Nymeria how much they had missed her.

“They're only to be feared if you threaten them,” Arthur explained to his former brother in arms, he knew how people saw the wolves, that they didn't see loyal protectors and intelligent animals but wild beasts. His own family knew different, no one was scared of Shadow or Ghost, or three wolves of Allyria's and Benjen's children, no one had been scared or hesitant when the third wolf Benjen had taken South with him as a pup had later claimed little Vorian basically straight after the boy's birth, curled up in front of the basinet like a watchdog. Allyria hadn't shaken in fright over her tiny born too early son being watched over by an animal whose head alone was much bigger than her son's entire body.

She had not seen a monster who could swallow Vorian whole, she had seen a friend who had finally found his missing piece and would now loyally and one hundred percent defend that friend against any foes.

And Arthur himself had reassembled his views anyway after Starfyre had grown bigger than the white wolf who loved Jon so much and was loved in return. The dragon who had left them what was now more than a year and a half ago had theoretically been able to raze Starfall to the ground with not much effort at all if only he so pleased, Ghost was a toothless kitten compared to that threat. Not that he had ever been scared of the dragon or frightened that he might harm Jon, let alone that the wolf would, both of them only wanted to protect their Master.

“Must be a relief to know that they're protected at all times.” Barristan mentioned to him and Arthur nodded because it was, the wolves would not carry hesitation or doubt over harming a human life if someone threatened their pack, and they wouldn't later drown in possible regret or guilt either.

“It is,” he agreed and then smiled over at Torrhen though, “but I know my son in good hands anyway. You should see what this one has improved in skill and actual _patience _and strategy. He's gonna turn that squire melee into a one man massacre.” Torrhen's shoulders turned broader still upon the compliment and he could have it here, have that ego stroked and that spine steeled by praise. The world outside of Dorne was cruel enough to bastards, especially among the highborns at a tourney, especially with someone like Torrhen whose name reminded people of a great scandal.

“Is that so?” Barristan played right along and Torrhen smirked at him, the admiration was still there and Arthur was glad to see it. The boy had needed a father figure, and it had been clear that he hadn't wanted to find it among his uncles.

“They won't stand a chance.” Torrhen announced and nudged Jon who only rolled his eyes, as ever fully unimpressed by his cousin's boasting, even if Jon knew as well that those words weren't exaggerations.

Torrhen was incredibly talented and once the patience had caught up he had become so good.

“Ah, I was beginning to believe he's turned you humble after all yet.” Barristan chuckled and that prompted Jon to break out laughing, quickly stepping away from Torrhen with Arya still clinging to him. Torrhen sent him a brief glare and then smirked at Barristan again.

“Nah, never,” was his short reply, fingers trailing over the hilt of his sword, he carried it with pride, not yet Brandon Stark's, that would follow when he came off age in some moons, it was already waiting at Starfall, sharpened, polished, engraved.

“Well, then,” Barristan clapped his hands together and gave one last half hug to Torrhen again, “I'm looking forward to seeing you on the sparring yard and the melee. For now, I fear, I will have to return to my duties.” He gave a wave and then turned away, white cloak disappearing into the crowds outside the sign up tents.

Leaving the boys to grab their horses and lead them into the tourney camp paths by themselves, Arthur instead swung Arya up onto his shoulders, the not yet eight year old cheering upon the new height.

“Have you told someone where you went, little she-wolf?” Arthur asked her as they slipped into the crowds, people smiling at him and inclining their heads in greeting. No one openly stared anymore or took a step back, losing that unspoken threat that the whitecloak always carried with itself was refreshing. He didn't want to turn around and look how the boys were being received. Torrhen would be easily recognized upon spotting his eyes, even if he had honored his father's blood by his mostly black and grey attire. They had been unable to get Jon convinced to drop the black clothes but Eyrin had shown her brilliant mind when she had embroidered it with a lot of Dayne purple stitchings.

There were now more stars on Jon than Arthur's Sword of the Morning armor held but at least it was obvious where the boy belonged to.

And if someone ended up staring now, it might just be because of the trio of wolves following the horses anyway.

“Domeric was gonna sign up for the squire joust and I got to go with him,” Arya explained as they arrived at the first living quarters in the camp, the Reach being the one closest to the front. The Royal court staid at Storm's End which was only a very short ride away from the chosen grounds for the tourney, so it was of course the Reachers among Mace Tyrell who had placed themselves front and center for attention. “When we left I saw you and Domeric let me leave because I promised to stay with you until someone brought me back to Pa.”

“Smart girl,” Arthur complimended it and wove his way further into camp and past other Houses still building up their temporary quarters with tents until he reached the Dornish corner at the far back, right next to the Crownlanders who had circled themselves around the Velaryon banners. Once upon a time that had still been very different.

At the last tourney held at Storm's End that Arthur had been at – that Barristan had won – the Velaryons had held their place front and center with the other Crownland Houses as the closest relatives to the Targaryens who back then like the court did now staid in the castle for safety reasons. And with Elia's bethrothal to Rhaegar having been announced only weeks prior, the Dornish had been no longer at the back of anything either.

Today though they were but Arthur wouldn't dream about complaining about it either, it made keeping an eye on things so much easier when their direct neighbours were allies on both sides. The Crownlanders around Corlyn on one and the North around Ned on the other.

\--

With the children eager to explore on the next day and Aurane equally off for now to find some people he wanted to talk to because of the fleet, Arthur could lean back and take a break to try and calm his nerves. Everything had more or less gone smoothly so far and there was no reason to believe that the next day wouldn't fall into that category as well.

Andric spent him company outside the tent for a while but left for his own exploring by the time the sun was slowly reaching its highest point. After that Arthur was alone, and deep within the Dornish camp as his tent was positioned he could almost relax enough to fall asleep again. His head for once almost quiet over the worries circling around Jon and Robert Baratheon, he had to come to terms with the knowlegde that his hands were bound now.

It was going to happen, whether or not he wanted it.

No praying or wishing or hoping could change it.

They had taken every precaution necessary to have all their bases covered, regardless of what outcome would show its face tomorrow.

Arthur's peace was broken when Carral tapped his shoulder and then pointed over his own shoulder towards a figure with a hood pulled deep in their face, wearing a dark blue travel cloak.

“Someone wants to talk to you,” Carral grumbled and stalked off when Arthur sat up on the chair, eyes blinking at the supposed stranger slowly stepping closer.

“Apologies for the potential scare,” the hooded figure spoke up in a hushed voice that had Arthur jump to his feet with a gasp, “I didn't know how to approach you in any other way.” Wildly looking around to ensure that no one was paying attention to them, Arthur quickly grabbed a wrist and pulled the man inside his tent.

This man who wasn't a stranger at all.

“Are you aware of the risk?” Arthur hissed once they were inside and he dragged a hand down his face, “if anyone saw you...”

“They won't, I've learned to be careful,” Jon Connington pointed out and he pushed the hood back just enough so that Arthur could see his face in shadows without revealing himself entirely. Arthur pulled up an eyebrow upon spotting the dyed hair. “Precautions to fit a Tyroshi identity. I needed to find a mask to hide under so I could talk to you.”

“Whatever happened that couldn't be solved in a letter?”

“Trouble.”

Of course.

\--

A little bit later, Arthur motioned for Griff to be still when steps could be heard outside the tent but when a white snout brushed aside the entrance flaps, he relaxed again, breathing out heavily in relief when Aurane followed Ghost into the tent.

“Hey, I...” Words getting stuck in his throat, Aurane raised both eyebrows and closed the flaps behind himself with one quick hand, “What's going on here?” Arthur caught Griff's eyes and nodded, holding out a hand to stroke Ghost when the direwolf came over to sniff at their guest. Griff stood up and turned around, Aurane's eyes went wide and he threw a panicked look around.

“Have you lost your mind? We're on a fucking _royal_ tourney ground, the whole place is crawling with stag loyalists, if one of them _sees_ you.” Aurane exploded into a hissed rant, looking around as if someone might have been overseen hiding in the tent itself. “Barristan himself is right around the fucking corner talking with Torrhen and Jon.” Arthur shrugged when Aurane sent him an exasperated look, he knew Aurane was on edge because he was worried about him, this wasn't exactly making anything easier.

“It's nice to see you, too, Waters.” Connington dryly responded and Arthur needed to reach out and hold onto Aurane when he made to get into Connington's face.

“I've been legitimized,” Aurane chose to snap out instead and Arthur hadn't missed this fighting game at all, he could almost imagine Rhaegar standing off to the side with his eyes pinched shut, willing away another headache. Oswell next to him, too amused and entertained to even think about intervening.

“Congratulations.”

“Are you two really gonna make this difficult?” Arthur grumbled, let go of Aurane after a warning squeeze and then leaned down to the white direwolf, catching red eyes, “Can you fetch Jon and Torrhen and make sure they come here alone?” Ghost brushed against his leg and then trodded off.

“I'm not making anything difficult. I'm saving us all the executioner's block.” Aurane argued hotly and spun on the spot to go and find the wine, cursing under his breath when he had to make due with lemon water.

“Aurane...”

“No, you're not using that tone with me.” Arthur got interrupted right away and his following glare had Aurane's shoulders drop down again where his hackles had been raised to the clouds. They were both too riled up to not let an argument get ugly at the moment, they needed to remain on the same side to have each other's backs and sanity in check.

“I see you two have made up.”

“Shut up, Jon.” Aurane and Arthur effortlessly joined together and Griff raised both hands in about the same moment as Richard slipped into the tent with a quickly choked off call of Arthur's name. Richard froze, blinked and then quickly stepped into the tent, snapping the flaps shut in a violent gesture before staring at Connington calmly watching him in return.

“Hello,” was Richard's rather anticlimatic greeting that prompted even stoic Connington to roll his eyes, “this isn't something I was expecting.”

“No one was,” Aurane grouched and dramatically dropped himself into a chair, evading the hand that Arthur wanted to gently slap his head with. “What brought you here then? Don't tell me you lost the Princess. Jon will sick the wolves on you.”

“Daenerys is perfectly fine and perfectly safe,” Connington pointed out and Arthur was grateful that at least he dropped the pettiness to behave like a functioning adult. “There are some issues in regards to the threat we've written about that have come to my attention. And I want everyone to be on the same page about it. And this made a face to face necessary, believe me, you wouldn't have wanted me to write this in a letter. We should maybe find your brothers, too, Aurane.”

Jon and Torrhen could be heard laughing loudly in the next moment before they stepped into the tent, threw one look around and immediately shut up. Shadow and Ghost brushed past them and strode over to flop down on the ground by Aurane's feet, happily accepting the hands that came down to scratch their heads.

Among the two boys, Jon's eyes lit up with recognition first and he rushed forward to embrace Griff in a tight hug, Torrhen caught onto it a second later.

“Oh by the gods, look at you, almost a man grown.” Connington whispered in shock and Jon grinned at him, didn't even have to look up anymore. In fact Arthur would almost have to say that Connington had to look up a little even, to Torrhen definitely.

“He wishes.” Torrhen snorted and smirked when Jon glared at him, pushing at his cousin when Torrhen had shaken Connington's hand.

“How is she?” Jon blurted out once he was focused back on Connington again, “you didn't bring her with you, did you?” It would have been a risk way too great, Arthur knew that Connington wasn't as stupid as that. With all the things Connington had written in letters and Jace actually talked about the Princess looked too much like Rhaella to not have people talking. Arthur could see how the people were reacting to Rhaena, how they talked about Lady Rhae, how they talked about portraits of Good Queen Alysanne.

Portraits that Arthur knew from his own memory looked incredibly like his niece did now.

And Queen Alysanne and Lady Rhae were figures from the past, not figures who had featured in a bloody rebellion that was still very much at the forefront of a great many minds.

“She is well and happy.” Connington explained with a smile for Jon, as he had in the past, Jon's very presence softened something inside a man who was filled with so much bitterness now. “She is spending some time with Nyssa Rogare and some of her daughters in Lys while I make this trip here, she is guarded by men Jacaerys and I spent weeks picking out.” Arthur breathed out a sigh, as much as he wouldn't trust the men Jace would consider equipped for the job of protecting a Targaryen princess, he nevertheless trusted the Rogares to do the job.

Daena Rogare had proven already that despite her blood she stood on their side, she wanted to protect Jon and his independence to make his own decisions without outside pressure.

“What brought you here then?” Jon asked and looked around the tent, “you have to be aware that coming here is very dangerous. You don't hold many friends on this tourney ground. I'm not sure that Oberyn himself would be so ecstatic over seeing you,” Jon grimaced and looked to Arthur who could only shrug in turn, Oberyn did what Oberyn wanted.

“We should send for Lord Corlyn and Jacaerys before I go on any further, this is not something we should risk repeating,” Connington insisted and Richard huffed when Arthur glanced his way but he also hurried out of the tent again.

\--

Three hours later, Arthur and Aurane gave a quiet yelp when Barristan seized them by their elbows and dragged them into the tent they had been standing in front, a green Velaryon one. Inside of it, Lord Lucerys snapped his head up where he had been sitting and reading, Aurane struggled himself free of his hold immediately again, Arthur remained calm until Barristan let go of him.

“Have you lost your goddamn minds!” He snarled, looking from one face to the other before dragging both hands down his face, “By the Seven, I feel like I've just had a heart attack.” Calmly as the sea was so often not, Lucerys kicked out a chair on the other side of the small table, Aurane moved towards the wine. Barristan reluctantly took a seat and narrowed his eyes at Arthur who was simply standing there in the middle of the tent.

“I can't even speak it out in riddles for being afraid to be overheard!”

Aurane set two cups of wine onto the table and then returned to the corner to gather two more before retaking his place right beside Arthur. “Took you fourteen...nah, let's be fair...eight years to figure out.” Aurane smiled and took a quick sip of wine, “We need to discount the years you didn't even know about him.” Barristan frowned at him, hard, and Aurane stopped, “We're talking about Jon, aren't we?”

“Of course we're talking about Jon!” Barristan hissed out in a furious whisper and Arthur felt his insides turn to glowing embery, ready at any moment to ignite protective instincts. Barristan was the least dangerous of those who might find out because they had known Rhaegar but it was still difficult to swallow after all. “But what in gods name do you mean with your years! I haven't known about Jon's survival for eight years, it's been just two hours!”

“Jon's _survival_?” Arthur asked in obvious befuddlement, confused violet eyes looked to Aurane who in turn set his eyes to the only slightly darker colored ones of his father.

“I think we got the wrong Jon.” Lucerys explained with a gentle smile, “Ser Barristan, I assure you we cannot be overheard here from Lord Varys' little birds, my son has assured that and little Jon's wolf is securing it, so we can speak openly.” Barristan only saw the white direwolf curled up in a corner then, “Why have you dragged my son and nephew into my tent?”

“I can recognize a Connington when I see one, even when his hair is blue and half his face is covered in an equally blue beard.” His revelation about Jon Connington prompted Arthur to slap Aurane's arm, the younger man glowering at him, “What does one Jon have to do with the other?”

He could only guess that they meant Arthur's son, for what would they know about Jon Arryn that Barristan didn't?

Connington had spent the entire ride back from Harrenhall ranting about the Stark girl. It had gotten so bad that Rhaegar had snapped and Arthur had needed to get between them, only for Connington to turn his ire on Arthur and Oswell and Rhaegar needing to separate them. And Barristan had no idea how one blink later Richard had sported a cut lip and Myles had been pushed behind Arthur, only that Rhaegar had stood snarling in the middle of them all.

It seemed unreal now, why Connington would risk coming back to Westeros just to share some words with Arthur, not like there had ever been any love lost between those two, certainly not now where Arthur had sired a child with Lyanna Stark and loved a man that Connington could absolutely not stand.

“Jon is keeping low.” Arthur replied, the only one who had not touched the wine yet, it wouldn't improve the sudden downturned mood anyway. “And he means no harm to anyone. I can hardly understand why that would concern you anyway.”

“Am I speaking to Arthur or Rhaegar's _ghost_ right now?” Barristan hit right back and he knew Arthur could see how close he was getting to being truly angry. “Because frankly, this is the first time inalmost _ten_ years where I really cannot tell again. And it's a development that I'm not sure I like.” Barristan gave his observation of the situation and Arthur unfortunately jumped at the dig at him.

“Why are you so pissed at _me_? What did _**I**_do?” He demanded and made a step forward until Aurane stopped him with a hand pushed against his chest. “I didn't tell Jon to come here. I don't command him.” He pointed it out because it was the truth, Connington did what Connington wanted to do, the only people in over three decades who had been able to order him around had been Targaryens.

“You sure? Whatever was spoken about had no favors for you?” Barristan didn't let up though and maybe regretted it a little when he could see how Arthur actually began to feel insulted, unable to believe why Barristan was showing him this distrust now.

“Now, now, I do not believe we have to be so hostile here.” Lucerys stepped in and Arthur angrily drank his wine finally, glaring at Barristan, “no one is working against anyone one. Arthur, Aurane, sit down.” Aurane followed his father's plea immediately but Arthur remained on his feet, fingers curled around the cup hard enough to have his knuckles turn white.

“I'd rather keep standing.”

\--

“Arthur...”

“No, I do not need this right now.” Arthur bristled angrily and Barristan noticed how the direwolves in the corner perked up their ears, black and red eyes sending a sharp eyed glance over to them. Upon spotting Arthur's tense stance the white wolf stood up, soundlessly trotting over to Arthur and taking a seat at his side, Shadow only tensed but remained behind for now, “Connington drops in on me and everyone fucking blames me for it, as if I would ever hold an ounce of control over what he decides to do. Connington is not my man, and he never will be. You think that a decade later and I'm still Rhaegar's man, Barristan? Well, try barking up the other tree then because I learned to move on, it's not me who is mourning times long gone. Not anymore. And tomorrow I have to present _my_ son to the King who is gonna look him through for every sign of Lyanna in him, and I'd like to say easy and done, but Jon is filled to the brink with hatred and I have one night left to get it out of him. I really don't need this right now.”

“When has he last slept, Aurane?” Lucerys turned to his son who emptied his second cup of wine, Arthur wasn't concerned yet, Lucerys watered down his wine profoundly and Aurane could pack a lot. Too much if Arthur was to give an opinion.

“Through the night? In Summerhall,” Aurane answered and Arthur looked away from his concerned eyes, he knew he wasn't sleeping well, knew that he was too paranoid again.

“I'm fine.” He said and knew that no one in the tent believed him, not even Barristan who didn't even know half of why Arthur's nightmares had nightmares at the moment.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Lucerys tried to be the soothing force and it worked with him better than with Aurane right now because Arthur couldn't fool himself into oblivion anymore. Aurane was worried about Jon and that meeting himself and Aurane's head was filled with too many exit strategies to tune down Arthur's paranoia at this time. “Listen, Arthur, no one here is blaming you for Connington's surprise attack. And our Jon will not do or say anything that will endanger anyone, he's too smart for that. And King Robert will be too dull to notice any subleties anyway.”

“Lucerys!”

“Oh come on, Barristan. Leave a man his tongue.”

“You're talking treason.” Barristan complained and it was almost amusing to see them squabble like this, both past sixty, both having endured scandals to their name that hadn't caused too much damage in the long run.

“By calling the King slow?” Lucerys snorted and Arthur exchanged a look with Aurane that agreed on letting them handle this alone, “I've heard you say worse things about my uncle.”

“I was six and ten then.” Barristan argued and Arthur searched for a chair, pulling it up next to Aurane, this was going to take a moment still and they had gone wildly off topic. “And I didn't say them in the presence of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.”

“I wouldn't have either, Duncan would have put you over his knee,” Lucerys chuckled and it was as so often weird to think that Duncan the Tall wasn't a figure of legend for people like Lucerys and Barristan. They had seen the man, Barristan had encountered him at that famous tourney that had given him his moniker, Lucerys had grown up knowing Ser Duncan as his uncle's protector.

“This is getting weird.” Aurane whispered in a pause so his voice carried anyway and Lucerys and Barristan both rolled their eyes and got back to the point at hand.

“Where is Jon right now?” Lucerys wanted to know and added “our Jon” to it to avoid any further confusion or misunderstandings.

“I don't know.” Arthur admitted because that what he had forced himself to allow, he didn't want that Jon realized how stressed out Arthur was. Not letting him out of his sight wasn't going to help in stopping the mental freakouts so it was no use in caging him in. He had given Jon free run of the tourney grounds for now, Torrhen wasn't leaving his side anyway, as was Tyene and both of them were protective and paranoid enough to keep Jon safe by themselves. Add to it the presence of Quentyn and his friends, the circle that Vaemon had built himself among the Crownland sons and Robb, Domeric and their Northern friends, Jon was fine. “Probably running all over the place with Torrhen and the other boys. Why was Ghost with you anyway?”

“Because I had duck for midday meal and apparently roasted duck beats watching over Jon.” Lucerys pointed out with another chuckly and begged Ghost over who came more than willingly and stretched out at his feet.

“You're one spoiled brat.” Arthur commented and held out his own hand for Shadow to sniff at. As the wolves had grown older it had quickly become obvious that where Ghost and the wolves of Allyria's and Benjen's children were fully content with everyone in their grand complicated family, Shadow had his people picked out and didn't show interest in anyone else.

Shadow was zeroed in on Torrhen most of the time, full trust given out to Jon, Rhaena, Ashara and Arthur as well but that was about the circle where the wolf let himself relax. He was protective of his pack, their family, would protect and defend all of them but he would never seek any of them out to get spoiled or cuddled. The Alpha needed to remain vigilant.

“Can someone please tell me what is going on here? I feel like there is some tale that I haven't been read in on.” Barristan argued with some frustration showing in his voice and Lucerys and Aurane immediately looked over to Arthur.

Unspoken thoughts obvious.

Your choice.

Jon's thoughts had been clear about it months ago, he had told them clearly that if they thought telling Barristan would double their chances of not creating a mess at this tourney than they were open to tell him. In his eyes it had been long overdue anyway after Torrhen had started seeing such an important figure in Barristan.

Arthur swallowed, briefly closed his eyes and ignored the ever present subdued panic in his head, listened to his heart instead.

Truth be told he had wanted to do this years ago.

Jon had been right, it was long overdue and maybe Barristan still held a position where he was under more stress to keep a secret than they were but tomorrow all of their necks could be at risk. And Barristan could be a deciding factor in keeping that risk from becoming reality. “Do you remember how I told you that one day I might tell you the truth? The full story?” Arthur began slowly and pushed Aurane's tapping hand away from his thigh. Barristan frowned at them before he nodded, of course he remembered. Arthur took a deep breath, bracing himself for something and Barristan tensed, “Jon is not my son by blood.”

\--

“_Was it the truth?” Barristan whispered his question then and Arthur looked up at blue eyes, eyes that not only belonged to a former sworn brother now, but also to one of the men who had made him who he was, who had taught him, protected him, supported him, encouraged him. “Or was it a truth for a king?”_

_Arthur fought a war inside his mind for a good long moment, eyes turning to watch Aurane and Richard squabble over the peacock of a flagship._

“_I can't answer you that.” He answered Barristan with a sigh then, going on before the older knight could say something, “It's not because I don't trust you. I do.” He insisted and looked back at Barristan, “Of course I still trust you, but that is also why I can't do it. Aurane's shoulders already weigh heavy under the burden of the true story, and I can't do the same to you. How did you suspect something to be wrong?”_

_Barristan smiled and set a hand to his shoulder to squeeze, Arthur didn't know how he had needed it until the gesture was there._

“_Be assured that no one else would have. Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon do not know you at all, and Jaime does not know you well enough, but I do. And though I cannot say that I have any idea on what is going on here, but I saw in your eyes how much it pained you to color Rhaegar the villain. You still love him, I can see that.”  
“One day.” Arthur promised him and took a deep breath, “One day, I will tell you truth, the whole story.” Barristan slapped his shoulder and they shared a smile before Aurane's loud huff distracted them._

\--

“Jon is not my son by blood.”

It knocked the breath from his lungs.

It froze the blood in his veins.

It stole the words from his tongue.

It numbed the thoughts in his mind.

Barristan could only sit and stare.

“Rhaegar...” it was the only word his lips could form after a long pause of dead silence in a tent with four men. Arthur held his eyes, easy now, but also wary, braced for something that Barristan might have once felt insulted to have associated with himself but so much had happened.

“Yes.”

One simple word from Arthur's lips and **everything** changed.

“Oh bloody Seven Hells, the boy is _Rhaegar's_.”

\--

It was another tourney.

It wasn't even the same castle outside of which they were walking.

Not even the same kingdom within Westeros.

But every part of Ashara was caught in a constant trip down memory lane.

And she knew that Oberyn and Benjen who were accompanying her weren't feeling any better.

Another volatile and erratic King on the throne.

Another secret kept.

Another time where the smallfolk was in unrest.

Another secret rebellion being planned in the heads of at least some people.

Too many things tasted too much of Harrenhall.

And the only difference was that this time around they had so much more to lose still, she concluded for herself as she watched Rhaena and Elia walking ahead of them, giggling amongst themselves, pointing at beautiful dresses and stands with jewelry.

She had been praying more than ever in recent weeks for the gods and the stars to be on their side, to stand in for the safety of her family. The last time she had lost her best friend, children she had cherished and a man she had loved.

This time around her own children were at risk, and she couldn't let that happen.

\--

“Okay, listen, strategy for tomorrow.” It hadn't taken long until Barristan had stepped past the first shock and though he was still very much thrown he focused now. Arthur could actually finally feel parts of himself relax, because talking strategy with Barristan called to something in him that set him at ease in a much different way than Aurane's gentle understanding could. “I will make sure the Kingsguard on duty will be me, Lucerys' Celtigar nephew and the our new Northern boy.” Barristan began and Arthur breathed out deep, finally leaning into Aurane's hands.

“I want Jaime there,” he also found himself saying, he didn't know why he wanted it but he couldn't see this happening without Jaime being there. Even unknowing as he still was about the full truth, Jaime would never let anything happen to another child ever again.

“Why?” Barristan wanted to know but he looked grateful for the thought already, too many people had trampled over Jaime already, they needed to treat him with the respect he deserved finally. Jaime could be trusted, his heart had always been in the right place beneath the treachery that his father and his sister had shrouded his light and loyalty under.

“I don't know, just have him be there.”

“Very well.” Barristan concluded and then pointed a finger at the three of them, “_You_ make in turn sure that the right people will be with you and Jon.” That name it was spoken differently now. “Which means, you, Lucerys, stay out of it.” Barristan made his opinion clear.

“No protest there.” Lucerys told him, as much as he held respect still among the majority of the highborn Lords and Ladies, he was a shunned character at court and the King wouldn't react well to him.

“Prince Oberyn should keep his distance as well for that moment, he'll only rile Robert up too much.” Barristan went on and Arthur nodded, Oberyn was going to hate it but it was the simple truth. Oberyn would not be able to swallow any hidden insults down for even a second. “Aurane, you'll stay away, too.” And that was not the right thing to say.

“What? Why?” Aurane immediately demanded to know in a biting tone, Arthur squeezed his hand, realizing that as much as he wanted Aurane at his side for this, Barristan might be thinking about the same possible complication as he was now.

“Because we just set strategy into my hands and I do not want your resemblance to Rhaegar anywhere close to Jon while Robert looks to boy over.” Barristan indeed spoke out Arthur's thought and Aurane deflated right next to him again.

“Okay, fair enough.” He reluctantly agreed with it, knowing that it was the best, even if he hated it, someone would definitely need to keep an eye on him while they were with Robert. Preferably someone who could keep himself standing with a sword against Aurane's anger.

Like Jace.

There were still enough issues between them that they hadn't addressed even years later, some blow up argument because of Aurane's discomfort with waiting might actually be helpful for their bond.

“I'll personally ask Ashara to not come along,” Barristan went on and Arthur nodded because she would take it quite differently from Barristan than if he did it himself. “Seeing her will only remind Robert of Harrenhall and we don't want that. Torrhen on the other hand should be with Jon.”

“Try and separate them.” Arthur answered with an amused short laugh, “Wanna know what Torrhen did after he found out about Jon's royal blood? Swore himself to him.” Barristan raised an eyebrow and Arthur nodded, “Yes, knelt down in a _Sept_, made a _vow_ and all. At ten. Not even a force of nature will keep Torrhen from Jon's side tomorrow. Let men try, Barristan, he will cut them down. You know I'm not joking. _You know him_.”

Torrhen had become Duncan the Tall to Jon's Aegon V. Aemon the Dragonknight to Jon's Aegon IV.

And maybe even better, as much as the comparison sucked these days, Torrhen had become Aegor Rivers to Jon's Daemon Blackfyre.

Not even death would ever break that loyalty, that devotion and that understanding.

“Surround Jon with as much Starks as you can without looking too suspicious. Lord Stark, Ser Benjen, Robb Stark, the girls, especially the wild one who looks so much like Lady Lyanna.” Barristan painted them the picture further and Arthur agreed wholeheartedly with all of it, Arya especially would push the right buttons in Robert. And she would see it as a game anyway, not complain because Jon was there with her. “Richard should stay away, we need to handle this delicately and his mouth will only run away with him again.”

“We'll grumble to ourselves in some shady corner,” Aurane mentioned darkly and Arthur slapped his knee, they were trying to be positive there, not even more frustrated. Aurane huffed but met his eyes and relaxed again a little, they all knew it would suck but they had to do what was going to be best for Jon and all of their futures.

“Bring the direwolves.” Barristan decided and Arthur swung his head around to stare at him again in surprise now.

“You sure that's a good idea?” He asked, hand stroking over black ears. “You've seen Shadow, the only one who has command over him is Torrhen. If the Alpha thinks his pack is in danger, he won't hesitate to protect.” Shadow bucked up into his hand, showing a long muscular neck that could kill so easily. “And you know Torrhen even better still, he carries a good heart but he also carries a heart that will go over bloodied battlegrounds to make sure his family is safe. He is Brandon Stark's son, Barristan, with a predator at his side next to his own blade.”

“Robert likes the beasts, let them come.”

“Elion will want to be there.” Lucerys spoke up as well again, having Barristan twitch a little, Elion's arrival had been a surprise to everyone among the royal court. No one had expected Doran's and Oberyn's father to accompany the Dornish to this tourney, no one that was outside of Dorne. It was the first time that Elion had stepped a foot towards anything Royal outside of Dorne since Elia's murder. “He's not gonna let Jon face Robert alone, and if you think otherwise, you can gladly have that discussion with him yourself. And then he will hold you the same lecture he held us all in Dorne already. He won't see another grandchild in Robert's presence without him being there to protect.”

Arthur and Aurane exchanged a look because to them Elion had been even more direct than with Lucerys.

'If he looks at that boy and calls him dragonspawn, you can be sure that my sword will be the first protruding from his chest.'

“Lord Elion should not be a problem. If Robert recognizes him at all, then he'll only be spurned on to act more stoic. What about your brother, Arthur?” Barristan was still very much in his element, Arthur grimaced in reaction, Andric was usually the one you relied on to keep his head on straight and be the calm in a vicious storm but not when it concerned his family. Especially because if something went wrong and Robert sniffed out the truth after all, it was Arthur's head that landed on the chopping board the first, and Andric had seen that risk once already, he wouldn't keep calm over a second time.

“Nah, I think Andric will be better suited keeping Oberyn occupied.” As much as that would work out, it either worked or they would end up riling each other up to as of yet unknown heights. “You don't want him back in Robert's presence.”

“Yours, Aurane?” Barristan proposed and Aurane started laughing, even Lucerys hid a grin behind a hand before busying himself with rubbing Ghost's belly.

“The returned sellsword with the golden rings on his arms that he refuses to part with who looks just as Valyrian as me?” Aurane painted the image and Barristan grimaced, his own opinion over where Jace had roamed about for years was well known to them, not impressed was putting it mildly. “Or the Lord of Driftmark who currently has half the small council in a cold sweat, including Varys,” was Aurane's other offered choice and no, bringing Corlyn to this meeting was not a good idea. “You're less likely to upset his Grace and his courtiers if you bring my father along. No, if you want to give Robert a show of Velaryon family behind Jon then I'll ask Vaemon.”

Barristan went silent then for a moment before he looked over to Arthur, “this is going to work. It's gonna be okay.”

And from his lips that meant a lot, it almost made Arthur believe in it.

\--

After having spent most of the day exploring and discovering the tourney grounds with Robb, Domeric, Quentyn and Anders, Jon, Edric and Torrhen were making their way back to the Dayne tents. It had been exciting to see so many people, to see the booths and the selling stands, to see the puppet shows and the mummers' play. Jon and Torrhen had signed up for the squire joust and the squire melee respectively and had made plans to stake out the competition on the sparring yard over the next days.

They hadn't spent a moment of the day despairing over the uncertainties that the next day stood under, they had only wanted to enjoy the day.

They had almost reached the lavender banners next to the Martell encampment and Edric had run ahead to find his father when someone called for “Jon?” He turned around upon Lucerys' call and then quickly straightened up further when he caught sight of the tall man who was walking up to him at Lucerys' side. He felt his Pa coming to stand behind him and Torrhen slipping to stand by his side once more.

“Jon, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine finally.”

He was tall, easily as tall as Jon's Pa, shoulderlong silver hair, bright purple eyes and sharp features, he looked like the portraits that had been made of his father. There was something of Maester Aemon in him as well. The shape of his eyes also reminded Jon of Corlyn, Jace and Aurane, all three of whom were this man's second cousins.

Maegor Rogare.

Once he had been Prince Maegor Targaryen, for five moons he had been the heir to the Iron Throne before a Great Council had chosen his uncle over him and his mother took him to Essos. Now he was married to the daughter of the First Magister of Lys, had six children by her, and at least one of them had obviously accompanied him because a girl of about Rhaena's age came to stand at Maegor's right side. She was tall, thin, almost as willowy as Rhaena, bright silver hair braided back into a stern updo, warm and sweet looking purple eyes smiling at them.

“It's an honor to meet you, my Lord.” Jon got out after his first stunned moment of surprise and Lord Maegor's kind face gave him a happy smile.

“The same goes very much for me, my boy. I'd like you to meet my daughter Sera as well. I would have wished to introduce you to my two others who came with me as well but I fear I have lost Lysaro and Morena to the excitement of a tourney.” He said while throwing a quick look around.

So Jon hadn't been wrong with his age estimate, he had learned his family tree inside out by now, with help from Darvin and Caleotte. Sera was Maegor's second youngest and she was almost exactly as old as Rhaena. Morena was a year older and Lysaro, the second oldest and only son, was nine and ten already. Sera curtsied to them and Jon took her hand to kiss the back of it, it was old fashioned maybe but Jon found manners important.

“Would you want to join us for supper?” His Pa offered when he took his turn greeting Lord Maegor and both Lyseni happily accepted. Jon found himself excited to learn more about this distant part of his family, the family who was protecting so much for him now.

Especially concerning the decision he had made with Torrhen's support.

Lord Maegor had once been in a similar situation like he found himself in now, and Jon now hoped that in a quiet moment he might ask the man why he had chosen what he had chosen so long ago. It could only be helpful, even if his own decision was already more or less put in stone.

\--

The next day

\--

He saw the man sitting up on the daise.

He saw the man wearing the fancy robes and the golden cup of wine.

He saw the fat man who didn't have a neck and whose tunics were so strained over the might of his stomach.

He saw a fat old man wearing a crown.

He saw a fat old man peering down at him with eyes that had once looked down upon his murdered siblings.

He saw fat lips that had once called his siblings dragonspawn.

He saw a fat man who had once killed his sire, whom they had called a demon.

He saw no demon now. He saw no warrior, he saw no hero, he saw no king.

_He only saw a monster that he hated._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone!


	4. Robert Baratheon, Petty King of the Seven Kingdoms

“Leave him.” Andric said when he saw how Jace made to open his mouth, surely to call his brother out on his destructive behavior, instead he slipped further up the bench, giving Jace room to sit down between Oberyn and him. All of them watching how Aurane snarled at the wooden sparring dummy, sword crashing against it, Richard standing not too far off, grimacing with hands twitching. “Knowing Arthur and Jon in Robert's presence is not gonna have him calm down anytime soon.”

Not a single one of them was gonna calm down anytime soon.

Let alone relax.

Lucerys had chosen to collect the children of their patchworked family who hadn't been allowed to accompany Jon and Torrhen and was distracting himself by buying them way too many things on the tourney market. Aurane had only chosen violence over spoiling children. Ashara was walking, talking with old friends along the cliff lines because she couldn't sit still. Andric felt the urge for movement in his own limbs but he kept on forcing himself to remain seated, if he only moved up to his feet for a moment he was gonna grab a sword himself and ask Aurane for a round.

And the very last thing Arthur needed right now was to have his brother or his partner spotting injuries from the other's hand.

“You all need more faith.”

“With all due respect, Jace, you weren't here. You didn't fight in the Rebellion.” Aurane snapped and it caused Jace to quickly look down, shame coloring his face. Andric knew it was an open wound that Aurane kept on poking a stick in from time to time, they had made up, the younger had forgiven the older that he had left but they were never going to be the bond they had been once upon a time. Aurane had changed too much, and Jace had changed too little. And frankly among this group they had waiting together here right now, only Carral and Richard had fought in the Rebellion as well. Corlyn and Andric had been too wrapped up in the political disaster of everything behind the scenes, Andric especially had had his hands full with Oberyn who had wanted to fight but had been forbidden from doing so by Doran.

Meanwhile Richard, Carral and Aurane had risked their lives and seen things that changed a man forever. Aurane had survived the cataclysmic disaster that the unnatural storm battle offshore of Dragonstone had been, Richard had fought in all ground battles and Carral had barely survived the horror of the Trident.

All while Jace had been far away in Essos, fighting battles that didn't end in the downfall of friends and family but with gold in his pockets.

“You weren't a prisoner of war.” Aurane went on, hacking away at the dummy because he was afraid, afraid and terrified for the man he loved and the boy he loved like a son without calling him so. And now Carral and Richard looked away as well, as the war had ended Carral had returned home, had been nursed back to health by his family, Richard had to hide but with everyone believing him dead he had been as good as safe, Aurane had been thrown into distrust, insult and shame. “You weren't an oversized hostage of the crown. You weren't used against your own family.” Jace flinched and Andric worked up the energy to call Aurane off, there was a line and they better not cross it, they needed to support each other at the moment. “You weren't there when the very man currently judging your own family raged about wanting to murder the man you love. You just weren't there.”

“Little brother...”

“Yes, I'm your little brother,” Aurane gave an exasperated repeat of Jace's own words, whirling around to glare at him, chest heaving with breaths, “so let me be angry at you right now so I won't rage at the _wrong people_.”

“Just do it, Jace,” Corlyn announced his own arrival in his ever present calm and Jace grumbled but snapped up his sword and got back to his feet, walking forward to push Aurane away from the dummy. “We can't do anything but wait right now. The ships are in place, the crews are ready. We have an escape route, _we_ are ready, now we need to wait.” Corlyn brought the point home and then settled his eyes on his little brothers whose swords crashed together in a loud crescendo.

“You got it together better than any of us.” Andric said when Richard filled Jace's abandoned spot on the bench between Oberyn and him and Corlyn leaned against a fence post.

“Someone has to keep their heads about themselves and if I don't force myself to stay calm, I'll go mad.” Corlyn gave a rare insight into his own personal turmoil and Andric sent him an understanding look. “Unless anyone has forgotten it, my firstborn is right there with them.”

And yes, of course he was.

Selmy's ideas had created a sound plan, and Vaemon was a good reminder towards the King and his Council members that the Velaryons stood behind Dorne and the Daynes, without having Corlyn be present in itself. The boy... young man Andric had to correct himself, the young man had a level head about himself, inherited only the best traits of both sides of his family, and there was not a small part in Andric that hoped that Edric could have in Vaemon what Andric had had in Corlyn all this time.

Someone who listened and gave advice, or at the least his view on an issue without being wrapped up in it, too, like Doran usually was where it concerned Dorne.

And with Jon moving in the direction he was, Andric could only hope that Vaemon could become a pillar of trust and strength for him as well, especially if Willas Tyrell's reaction to having the truth revealed would not work in Jon's favor. Jon needed someone older to talk to, someone who thought on his level but wasn't actually one of the adults he had grown up with, someone who would be there long after all of them had passed away.

Torrhen was great, with an ever increasing level of patience and his unwavering loyalty to Jon he was the best friend and brother that Jon needed at his side at the moment in this difficult personal times. But Torrhen was also rash, reckless and quick to judge, he was a warrior and didn't always believe in words being able to solve what a swordfight could as well. Andric would want to see no one else at his son's side or especially Jon's side when a battle raged, Torrhen already was a brilliant tactician and only grew stronger when he needed to protect his family but diplomacy was his greatest weakness.

Jon needed people around himself, people of his own generation who could bounce back ideas with him, who could not only listen but also argue back and hold their own, which was difficult enough. As Jon had grown older, he had only learned to think faster, to argue better and have a million more facts and arguments and twists up his sleeves than people would expect, he was legions ahead of most adults he was surrounded with.

But as he grew, his stubbornness grew as well and the boy needed someone at his side who could hold up to him on an intellectual level and at the same time be trusted enough to break through the walls of stubborness. It was the dangerous combination of his deathly sharp mind, his incredible perception and his passion to follow into what he considered to be right and fair that made up the part in Jon that was undeniably Targaryen.

As the people around him went to talking or sparring in Jace's and Aurane's case, Andric leaned back and thought over how long they had been so happy that there was nothing of Aerys in the boy. Happy that though clearly Rhaegar's son in manner and mind, Jon hadn't inherited his father's touch of obsessing over things. Happy about Rhaella's kindness and gentleness in him.

They had often enough forgotten to think about the Targaryen ancestors he resembled even more.

Even when those resemblances could only be drawn from history books.

Jaehaerys the First, Daeron the Good and Daemon Blackfyre.

Intelligent, well-educated, stubborn, quick-minded, level-headed.

And among those three it was the last one who drew Andric's brows into worry now, because as much as Daemon Blackfyre had been a menace and a threat to the trueborn sons of House Targaryen, he hadn't always been so. Outside influences had turned a man content with his life into the traitor and the catalyst of more than six decades of Blackfyre Rebellions, had turned a man who was loved by many, even among the main branch Targaryens, into a man filled with hatred and deceit, spurned by a motivation to see destruction until he got what he wanted.

Namely the throne.

No one knew what had suddenly led to Daemon changing his mind, Andric knew there were plenty of rumors, most of which he considered to be rubbish. Daemon had been long since married when Princess Daenerys had left for Dorne and married life, and as much as Aegor Rivers might have pushed into a broken heart of 'could have been's, no man of Daemon's intelligence would start a rebellion against the C_rown_ because of a woman.

That was more the likes of Robert Baratheon.

No, there must have been something so absolutely life-altering that Daemon snapped, and Andric wondered if it had been a fabricated or non-fabricated threat to his own blood because plenty of sources were agreeing on one thing: Daemon had cherished his children and wouldn't have let a threat to them be unanswered, especially not if it concerned his favourites, the twins and his first daughter.

And that line of thought brought a moment of clarity to Andric's head that turned his nervousness into a completely different direction.

“We made a plethora of plans for the possibility that Robert snaps. What do we do though if Jon is the one...” Andric's words left silence all around them, Jace and Aurane even stopped sparring and turned to look at him, “what do we do if Jon snaps, panics, rages? I've seen before what happens if he gets angry and I know what depths of anger there can be in him. He is all his father in that, and I mean _both of them_. The only difference is that when Rhaegar or Arthur exploded, there wasn't an actual dragon happy to support.”

Rhaegar and Arthur had always been so dangerously talented in keeping their anger and frustrations contained until it swept over in a tidal wave of destruction. It had never been healthy, certainly not for them, but neither of them had ever learned how to properly deal with anger when they had been children. Rhaegar had been too afraid to become like his father and Rhaella had shared that fear, blinded her eyes to teaching her son that there were other means to deal with anger than just think 'don't be angry'. Arthur on the other hand, that was frankly the combined fault of old Beric and Andric himself, they hadn't wanted to lay even more on heavy shoulders that had been weighed down by the troubles of the world before a toddler even knew what all of it meant.

And to this day, Arthur swallowed it all down, locked it away, shoved it down until he couldn't anymore, until that tidal wave of anger turned Dawn into an army in the hands of the Warrior himself.

“You think Starfyre would come?” Aurane wanted to know, among these men here he was the one 'closest' to the dragon, Corlyn and Jace had distance as their argument, Carral and Richard had chosen respect as their excuse. Andric himself had come to some kind of accord with the dragon, believed himself to be respected and if Jon wasn't pulling his legs he was viewed as the master of the house by a dragon who could have burned that house down long before he had left to grow even more in a safe environment.

Wherever he was, Jon wasn't telling them.

Aurane and Arthur had been loved by Starfyre, Arthur especially had had the dragon wrapped around himself as much as Meraxes still preferred him to sleep on during the day when Jon wasn't available. Jon's family had been seen as his in the dragon's own eyes, and a threat to his family was a threat to him, Jon had been clear on that, and Andric could already see that same behavior in the pack of direwolves he had running around Starfall and Star Den.

“Yes, I believe he will.” He answered hence, “Jon has been stowing away a lot of anger in recent moons, neither Arthur nor Torrhen got it out of him. And for all we've taught the boys over the years, we never taught Jon how to deal with this deep kind of anger. So he falls back on default, what he saw in behavior from his father. And Arthur...”

“...stows in it until it explodes in unsurmountable rage.” Aurane finished that sentence flawlessly and even after all these years it still felt good to know that there was someone else who knew his brother like the back of one's own hand.

“Excluding Aurane and me, none of you have ever seen Arthur truly angry.” Andric also felt compelled to explain for the others, even if they had seen it before, that day they had talked strategies before Arthur had left for King's Landing to face Robert. How that fury had unleashed itself until Arthur had run empty, and that had only been a taste. “It's something dangerous, something frightening. He leeches that anger into Dawn. Jon doesn't have a sword that's closer to him than his own limbs, but Jon has...”

“Ghost and Starfyre.” Oberyn finished effortlessly and Andric nodded, and as cruel as the next thought maybe sounded to his own ears, as dangerous as Ghost was, there were still means and possibilities to contain a direwolf until his master was calm again. A dragon though...

“I'm just saying, we've been so blindly focused on Robert being the catalyst that we never for even a _second_ considered that Jon could also be the one losing control.” His words were barely out when Andric already regretted them because Aurane's eyes turned back to hot curling anger and zeroed in on him.

He couldn't get to snap something at him though because another voice had them all jump, having thought themselves alone in the little back corner of the set up huge sparring yard where everyone had left them good enough alone so far.

“It would take long hours until the dragon reached these shores,” the sudden words of a stranger's voice had them all whirl around as well to stare at the young man with the distinctive hair who was leaning back against the fence of the sparring yard. Short silver-blond hair, front swept into his face and nearly covering one bright purple eye. Dressed in rich looking Lyseni silk in muted blue colors. “I can't be sure of course but Lord Lucerys had told my father about the dragon only yesterday,” the youth went on and all three Velaryon brothers grunted expletives about their father's timing under their breaths. “Starfyre was the name? He's is flying between Valyria and the Disputed Lands, my grandmother's men have seen him a lot already out on sea, though they believe it to be the heat playing tricks on their minds for the most part..”

“Your grandmother's men?” Andric wanted to know in confusion at the same time as Jace groaned and relaxed his shoulders, shaking his head before he said, “hello, Lysaro.”

“Captain.” The youth inclined his head and it was when he brought up a hand to sweap his fringe out of his eyes that his sleeve slipped down a little and Andric could see the one golden bands around his wrist, a very familiar kind of golden band. And in Andric's mind the connection snapped together.

“Lysaro Rogare, you're Lord Maegor's son,” he said and got to his feet, Lysaro walked forward, he was tall the boy, tall and lean, having clearly come after his father. His eyes though held something familiar almost in them and Andric would have almost laughed when he recognized it in the shape of them. Two generations down the Dayne blood hadn't been watered down enough and Prince Aerion's grandson carried his mother's eyes, carried Dyanna Dayne's eyes.

“It's a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Prince Aerion's grandson. King Maekar's great-grandson.

Aegor River's great-grandson. Daemon Blackfyre's great-great-grandson.

The heir of _bloodlines_.

This was the boy who could have the world at his feet.

The boy who could have it all with just one word but who had chosen not to.

He was basically the symbol that had truly ended the Blackfyre Rebellions for good, even if some people in Essos and unfortunately also King's Landing just didn't understand that.

This was the only descendant of dragonriders with the arguably bigger claim to the Iron Throne than Jon and he didn't want it.

\--

Jon had envisioned his first thought upon coming face to face with Robert Baratheon for a long time, a million different versions had passed through his head and all of them had seemed more likely than 'gods, he's fat' because Jon wasn't a superficial person.

But there he stood.

Facing the King of the Seven Kingdoms in what constituted as one of the feasthall tents, namely the Royal one. Looking up at the man himself sitting on a chair upon the high daise.

And thinking just those words.

_Gods, he's fat._

When his father had told him that Robert Baratheon had long since stopped being the Demon of the Trident, Jon had thought that his Pa might have been overplaying it a little. He was entitled to some humor, but Arthur Dayne hadn't made a wrong assessment. Jon had still thought that maybe the King had gotten a little comfortable, he hadn't needed to fight a battle since the Ironborn had rebelled and even there the Kingsguard would have taken the brunt of it for him probably.

But this was worlds away from getting comfortable.

Quickly glancing to his side to make sure Torrhen wasn't gaping, Jon then tried to clear his head of any and all negative thoughts concerning Robert Baratheon's lacking physicality. He couldn't that line be the first thing he would blurt out, they had already agreed to let Jon have the first word out of the two of them if left open to choose, to minimalize the risk that Torrhen was gonna start off this meeting by offending anyone.

Almost the whole small council had come together for this and Jon could hardly keep from glaring at Jon Arryn, the one man he hated possibly more than Robert Baratheon in this tent. Stannis Baratheon looked bored and was engaged in some kind of weird staring contest with Vaemon. Aside from the King and the Small Council, Lord Renly had also invited himself, Willas had made his opinion about him already so clear to Jon that he could hardly go into a meeting with the man without prejudices, as much as he would try.

Willas saw an overgrown pampered child in the Lord of Storm's End who would only show his youngest brother to be as soft as him. And then Willas had hastened to emphasize that he didn't care about whom Renly Baratheon loved and invited into his bed, let alone that he cared about whether or not his youngest brother followed those invitations, it was about how he ruled as a Lord Paramount.

Then there was the Queen who sat at the side of Robert with her son on her lap, the little boy was curiously looking over them and the eyes were a shocker despite knowing of them before.

_This boy looks more like he could be my brother than Aegon would have._

The Kingsguard barely got noticed by Jon, though Torrhen certainly would have seen that completely the other way around. It was mostly because with Ser Barristan and Ser Adrian, there were two men whom Jon already knew, both of whom also knew the truth about him. Then there was Ser Jaime who was mouthing back and forth something with Jon's Pa, and the last one being the newest addition, a Riverlander who had grown up in the North.

After Barristan's proposal, Jon had still slimmed down the list of people coming along quite a bit. He couldn't tell his Uncle Ned what to do but his uncle had only brought along Robb, Arya and Sansa, Ser Jory and the other guards had been told to wait outside, and their wolves hadn't come along either. Vaemon had come alone, left his guards outside as well but the Small Council was shifting already whenever they looked at the one child out of Corlyn's three who looked the most like him.

Dorne's side had been reduced to Jon's Pa, Elion, Ser Carral, Uncle Benjen, Obara and Larra Blackmont who terrified the shit out of Jon and had simply decided that if Andric and Oberyn couldn't come she was gonna go for them. All other guards he had politely asked to remain outside, Holden had not been enthused at all but Jon had pointed out to him that they were trying to divert Robert's attention away from anything more that could lead to Rhaegar.

And a knight born and raised in Harrenhall who carried the same last name and the same insignia on his armor as a Kingsguard Robert hated was not gonna get them there.

And then, and he deserved an extra mention because as Jon very well knew now he didn't play for either side, there was Varys. Fatter than the King even, he was lurking in the shadows of the far right side and he was the reason why Jon had invited the last person to this occasion. Having placed himself on the far left, leaning back against a tent pillar, his guest watched the assembled people with thinly veiled interest.

Jon had been upfront with the man for why he had asked him, he would not only make those among the Royal Court uncomfortable who recognized him for who he was but he would absolutely draw Varys' attention. And it was working perfectly because Varys was only staring at Maegor Rogare, not at Jon, not at Torrhen. Jon's Pa had called it a risk, to invite a Targaryen to a meeting where they wanted to avoid him being recognized as Rhaegar's son but Jon had insisted.

Some risk was necessary to keep Varys contained.

“I have been looking forward to this moment a long time,” King Robert began and Jon twitched the fingers that he had buried in the fur on Ghost's back, his wolf was sitting patiently at his side, Shadow was prowling the tent. Jon for sure hadn't been looking forward to this at all. “I thought I would have to ask you boys to introduce yourselves but my eyes show me clearly that young Torrhen favors his father indeed. Ned's stories haven't been wrong, you do look remarkably like your father.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. It's something I carry with pride.” Torrhen said in the politest tone he could manage, lips twitching up into a split second smile when Shadow chose to plant himself down next to Ser Barristan who briefly lost his unmoving stand to brush a hand over Shadow's head.

“I am very eager to see you on the sparring yard and in the squire melee,” Robert went on and Jon would take any second he could go without the man's fat lipped attention, “your father was a great warrior and I've been told you might just overcome his strength and skill yet.”

“I'm working hard to get there, Your Grace.”

Jon could feel the sarcasm that was rolling up Torrhen's chest and he hoped that his cousin was gonna push it back down. They had talked about this, they had even practised lines.

“I hope you will get the proper support and encouragement needed to get there in your home.” And there was the first dig at Jon's Pa and it surely had been later than Jon would have guessed. Unable to turn around and look at his Pa though, Jon preferred to look at the faces of the men he could see in front of himself. Ser Jaime and Ser Adrian who were both standing in front of the daise and hence with their faces out of sight of King and Small Council showed their displeasure over that hidden insult in their eyes, if only shortly. Ser Barristan kept his face stoic, just like the other to Jon unknown Kingsguard.

Among the Council, they predominantly showed their agreement with Robert's words but most of them weren't friends of Dorne anyway and even less so friends of former Loyalists. It was Stannis Baratheon who surprised Jon with a look sent in his kingly brother's direction that spoke about disbelief over such a statement. Jon knew enough from Aurane that Stannis Baratheon didn't care about former loyalties, he judged men by their dedication to hard work, their true character and their willingness to get their own hands dirty.

Not by whom their friends had been once upon a time.

Jon drowned out the talking about weapons and fighting between Robert Baratheon and Torrhen for the most part and instead kept on glancing around. Lord Maegor tapped his chin when their eyes caught and Jon straightened his posture again. He wondered how it felt like for Maegor, to not only have returned for the first time to a kingdom he had once left as a babe in arms but to also face down a King whose alliances had ended the Targaryen rule in Westeros and then still climbed upon the throne because of the blood in his veins.

Robert's throne could have been Maegor's.

If the situation had been less dire after King Maekar's death, less tense with Aegor Rivers scratching at the shores, eager for any weak moments that left an opening to the Iron Throne. The Lords might have chosen to have a Regent for an infant instead of the adult Aegon. The line of succession had been clear, Maekar's first two sons had died before him but Aerion had left a son. How different might it have been?

Would Jon have existed then?

Would Rhaegar have?

On the daise, little Orys was working on getting his mother's attention and when Queen Delena leaned down the little Crown Prince tapped his eyes and pointed over to Jon and Torrhen. Queen Delena smiled at her son but it looked a little pained to Jon, it made his heart squeeze hard and long, the old thoughts over how difficult this kid's life at court would turn out to be returning.

Alone to see now how little Orys turned so excited over seeing someone else who carried his eye color when his father would have long since preferred to rid Westeros of them.

When Torrhen and him had talked after Pentos, when Jon had said _those words_, they had agreed on what to do with him, what to do with her when the time came but they hadn't dared to touch upon the subject of the little prince.

_He's a child_, Jon had been thinking all the time since then, _he's just a child, right now he is barely older than Rhaenys had been when they had murdered her._

What to do with the little prince?

Force a toddler to the Wall? Force a toddler into the Sept? Force a toddler into exile without his mother?

Fortunately – or unfortunately – before he could spin himself into that pre-developed guilt again, Robert Baratheon's attention turned to him.

“I see you have favoured your mother greatly in looks, young Jon,” Robert addressed him, eyes judging, eyes piercing and Jon felt like spitting fire at him.

_'I hate you, too, but I don't fucking show it.'_

“I've been told so many times, Your Grace,” Jon didn't let this ugly feeling in his chest control his voice or his words, “her portrait showed her as a beautiful young woman and I am happy to carry something of her with me.”

Like her hatred of you.

Like her disgust in you.

Like the incredible desire to run away from you.

Robert seemed to be without a reaction for a moment and Jon wondered what the man had expected of him.

“I've heard that fighting is not to your liking. What lies in your future then, young man? Certainly not to stay within Dorne's borders forever?” The King wanted to know and Jon had this sudden urge to tell him just where he could shove his opinions about Dorne. He wanted to spit at him and promise him that soon enough he would see exactly what laid ahead in Jon's future.

_Your throne._

_Your death._

_In that order!_

“You have heard right, Your Grace, fighting is not something I find much joy in. I prefer politics and I can see myself stepping into that path in my future,” he wasn't even freaking lying and launched into words about supporting Edric in his future as Lord of Starfall, over being someone to lean on and talk to about issues with for Princess Arianne when she stepped into her seat at Sunspear one day. None of that were lies, Jon just didn't talk about it not being the only thing he wanted for his future.

Even with the goals he had in mind, he would always be there for Edric and Arianne. For Robb and Domeric. For Willas and Vaemon.

The look in Robert's eyes as he continued to watch Jon didn't improve and Jon realized quickly enough that the man was trying so hard and desperately to see Lyanna Stark in him, to find something of the girl he had once claimed to have loved so much. That he couldn't find any of that in Jon was entirely based on the fact that Robert's Lyanna was a complete illusion he had made up of a girl that had never existed.

Jon had a lot of his mother's but his mother had been a girl that Robert Baratheon had never seen and had never wanted to see.

Every question he asked was trying to lead back to Lyanna but Jon didn't want to play him, he simply wanted to be as honest as he could, as true to himself as he could. When it didn't stop, when Robert just kept on fishing for something that just wasn't there and growing more frustrated over seeing that Jon was more his father's son – holding true in both men that could mean – than his mother's legacy, something shifted in Jon to an emotion that terrified him as much as it gave him an incredible jumpstart on new energy.

Torrhen's head snapping to the side and his eyes boring into the side of Jon's head told him that his cousin had noted exactly what was happening.

And then the thoughts came that he had wanted to keep buried.

_'You murdered my father. You dream of murdering my Pa every night. You went into a war like an overgrown child whose toy had been taken away.'_

_'You looked at my siblings and called them dragonspawn. My dead siblings! My slaughtered siblings who could barely be recognized! You smiled at corpses of children younger than your son is now! Your throne room was covered in their blood and you dare and call us Dornish barbarians!'_

_'A petty King unable to let go of the past, incapable of ruling, uninterested in ruling! A king's duty is the well-being of his people and you rather whore around than listen to the starving terrified smallfolk who need your help!'_

“I have my father to thank for much of it,” Jon answered a question about his broad knowledge about the situations all over Westeros after a conversation had led there. Headache pounding behind his eyes. Chest burning, burning, burning. Gut rolling with a ball of _something hot. _Something uncontrollable, something that was gonna take over, something that he couldn't stop. “He encouraged my many questions and always helped me by finding people who could answer the ones he couldn't. Lord Elion as well remains a great teacher, I have learned much from him already and I am looking forward to more advice still.” He glanced behind himself, even as a he saw Robert frown.

Jon used that short moment to catch his father's tense eyes and Elion's mildly haunted ones but Elion also managed a smile for him and nodded at him. Message understood about _that thing_ they were gonna talk about after this tourney.

“I see,” Robert Baratheon coldly replied when Jon was finished, “a father is surely always happy when his son comes after him, even if he might not step into his footsteps.” And the look that Robert sent to Jon's Pa then didn't need a translation, it talked much on its own. Pure hatred. Pure raw desire to see the other man choke beneath two fat hands. “I hope he teaches you about his mistakes, too, so you might learn to be better.”

That was almost the spark to light the fire.

Almost.

But Torrhen's hand digging fingernails hard into his back quite suddenly kept Jon's feet tethered to the ground.

That comment hadn't even been subtle anymore, and it made it all forgotten what could have been celebrated otherwise. He swallowed it, Robert saw him as Arthur Dayne's son and saw nothing of the Targaryens in him, the ruse had worked, the lie had been kept.

Robert didn't see Rhaegar in him, Varys was distracted by Maegor and Jon Arryn was deep in thought but didn't seem alarmed by anything either.

There also laid the problem.

Jon Arryn was too deep in thought to keep control of the man who had never grown up truly. Varys was distracted by Maegor and would no doubt carry information back to Tyrosh. And Robert Baratheon saw only Arthur Dayne's son in Jon.

And Rhaegar and Arthur, it didn't matter, he seemed to hate both men equally by now.

He didn't look at Jon and saw dragonspawn.

He looked at Jon and saw someone who was in his eyes Dornish to the bones, who was in his eyes tarnished by Dornish influences.

“I am striving to learn from the mistakes of the past, Your Grace, to improve not only my own future.”

There was one thing Jon knew for sure, even despite the anger and hot red haze clouding his vision, his mind and his heart.

Right then. Right there.

Everything had changed.

\--

Jon Arryn had spent years awaiting this moment where Lyanna Stark's son would stand before him, awaited not because he had been excited or looking forward to it but because he had been curious about everything he would be feeling or thinking when that time arrived. Curious to meet a boy who stood for something that had nearly destroyed any and all plans that Jon Arryn had had for changing Westeros and deviating it away from a disaster.

A plan long in the making ever since he had been forced to watch the ever decreasing rule of the Targaryens.

Other people might have set their hope into the hopes of Prince Rhaegar but no matter how different, how level headed and how capable the Prince had seemed – at first – Jon had wanted to set an end to it. Almost three decades of Targaryen rule, good times always intersected by terrible times, they had needed to change something. It had never been about sitting one of his boys on the throne though, that had never been his foremost intention, he had wanted Aerys gone and then a Great Council to determine how they could go on.

If that Council had decided on Rhaegar after discussing other options then Jon might have just come to terms with a continued dragon rule but he had wanted that Great Council, a chance to have voices be heard.

And if pushed for bringing his own candidate forward, Jon wouldn't have presented Robert but chosen Ned instead, Ned had always been more suited for the role than Robert. As he stood there now, at Robert's side as his King talked with the two boys standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the daise, it was like looking in the past.

The bastard. Brandon Stark reborn, looking so incredibly much like his father had at his age that Jon wondered how much it hurt for Ned and Benjen Stark to interact with the kid. Violet eyes shone with the same fire and hunger that Brandon's dark ones had once upon a time, sharp gaze, cutting smile on those lips, and as far as stories went the boy's tongue was just a quick and able to be destructive as his father's once had been.

It was the sword though that he was apparently even more skilled with, Ned himself had talked for long over it and Jon didn't doubt it anymore as he saw the kid now. Taller than his peers, already looking the knight he wasn't yet, squiring for one of the deadliest knights in the Seven Kingdom. If there was still open tension with Dorne, Jon would have been concerned for the well-being of his charges.

As it stood now, he might just get another chance at having a Stark in the Kingsguard, even if he was a Sand but a name meant nothing anymore if you wore white.

Then there was the boy they had called this meeting for, this presentation at court, the boy who shared his name. Though where Jon Arryn had been named for a relative's nickname, Jon Dayne had been named for a King of Winter, and exactly that was also what Jon Arryn had to think of as he looked at the boy.

Kings.

The boy, four and ten of age only, stood tall and strong, his spine straight, his eyes unafraid to look into the face of the King. He answered questions gracefully and more eloquent than Robert could now, let alone at that age. And he was smart, so much was visible, so smart and quick-minded, and nothing could ruffle that calm. It was easy to put it down to blood, Arthur Dayne was a rock in a storm as well, it took a lot to get that man angry, Jon knew it, and it was obvious the people's White Knight had installed the same manners in his son that he had once become so famous for.

It seemed to Jon that the boy had gotten nothing from the Starks aside from looks, he certainly was Lyanna there, so much in his face and his coloring was all her. Jon had never known Ned's sister good enough to decide if any of her mannerisms or character traits could have been inherited by her son, and there wasn't a lot of Ned in his nephew either. Of course Ned had been smart and quieter as well, usually drowned out by Brandon and later Robert, content in the shadow.

Jon Dayne carried himself half in the shadow of his boisterous older cousin but the emphasis laid on half. Jon Dayne didn't cower, _didn't hide_.

That young spine was straight, those young but strong shoulders were straight. There was not a spec of nervousness in that posture or voice. Every word he spoke was well chosen and thought over. Those intelligent eyes looked at the King but saw everyone around. These were the kind of eyes who saw people's thoughts and decisions before _they_ even knew about it.

It was impressive.

The skill impressive in itself but in one so young especially and Jon wondered who among the Dornish had chosen to sharpen it within the boy. There were so many unknowns in their ranks, and certainly none more than Elion Gargalen who watched everyone up on the daise with unhidden contempt and disgust. And Jon should have known that accepting this man to this meeting, to this whole tourney in the first place couldn't have been a good decision.

Elia Martell's father.

How this man had come to consider Lyanna Stark's son family was a mystery.

But it wasn't Jon's place to understand the Dornish, he had to work with them and thankfully it was Elion's firstborn son who was ruling and not the father.

And as Jon Dayne spoke about his wish for a future in Dorne, helping his younger cousin rule over Starfall and maybe even advise Arianne Martell, future Princess of Dorne, in Dornish matters, Jon saw something in those eyes that woke a very familiar memory.

A memory of a man who had held great hopes and even greater plans, who had died so horribly and so much before his time.

No, Jon Dayne wasn't another Ned, the boy held too much confidence and wise beyond his years calmness about himself. He wasn't wild Lyanna's son, he wasn't reckless and searching for limits to cross over with a cry of joy, this wasn't someone who would ruin the plans of a family on a whim.

No, these eyes that were filled with cunning and kindness, with too much intelligence for a youth, with quiet dignity and healthy pride. Those eyes belonged to Rickard Stark's grandson.

And he might just be what Jon Arryn would need for the future of the kingdom, Robert's son would need a strong friend at his side when his time came, and a Stark and a Baratheon had once already become friends.

A Stark as Warden in the North, a Stark in the Kingsguard, a Stark as Hand of the King, a Stark as Queen, a Stark as wife to a Lord Paramount. Maybe even a Stark as Consort in Dorne in the future.

If Jon's idea came to fruition, Rickard's vision would have been finally fulfilled.

\--

When they were granted permission to take their leave, Torrhen didn't waste any time to get Jon and himself away from the eyes of King and Council. With every second standing under that fat man's gaze, he had felt the hatred in Jon rise up more and more. Every second this dumb King had gotten more and more oblivious to the real emotions portrayed in the people standing before him, Torrhen had felt this burning piece of something grow stronger and stronger in Jon.

And low and behold the very breath they were out of sight of anyone unwelcoming Jon's hands got balled into fists and he started trembling with something powerful. Elion steered them both even further into the Dornish camp and made sure that most others of their companions either left or gave them a good amount of distance.

“You have to breathe,” he told Jon while looking around, Elion had gone over to shush more people away and out of the Crownlanders only Jace and Aurane remained. Jace watching their surroundings and Aurane whispering intently at a furiously looking Uncle Arthur who didn't look any better than Jon, Torrhen wasn't stupid, he had heard every dig towards his uncle that the King had muttered. “Just breathe.”

As hard as it might be right now they needed to get Arthur and Jon away from each other to calm them down again.

Andric and Aurane were apparently on the same page because they dragged Arthur off towards some corner to talk to him. Ser Jory took Robb by the shoulder and nodded for the other guards to leave, Sansa and Arya followed confused and worried, hopefully Robb could explain to them and Domeric as well why everyone was so tense without saying too much. Robb also threw a look over his shoulder towards them as he was pushed to leave and Torrhen nodded at him.

'I got this.'

At least he thought he did.

“Jon...”

“Make me stop thinking of him,” Jon begged him in a voice shimmering with rage and Torrhen stretched out a hand towards Quentyn and then let a look follow when Quentyn hesitated to follow through on the unspoken question. Quentyn sighed before drawing his sword and handing it to Torrhen, he retreated back to Anders then and then even shushed more of their friends off entirely. He could see that this was something that needed to be handled out of their eyes.

“Torrhen, do you really...” He waved away whatever concern Jace wanted to bring forth, he knew what needed to be done. Their talking wouldn't get Jon anywhere right now, he had stepped over that line in his head and he hated himself like that, and the only way to settle the balance within him again was unfortunately violence.

“Give us some room,” Torrhen called out and though looking clearly unhappy Jace and Oberyn pushed people back, over Jace's shoulder Torrhen could see Barristan walking closer, no doubt concerned. He must have recognized the look on Uncle Arthur's face for sure, even if other people in that freaking royal court had not. “Alright, come at me.”

What Torrhen hadn't realized was that Barristan had recognized a look on Torrhen's own face that had flamed up concern in his gut.

\--

“I need to be with Jon.”

“No,” Aurane pushed him back again and Arthur let him, his head was too much of a mess to physically protest, too. Andric and Aurane led him further back towards the treeline behind their tents. “You need to focus on yourself right now, you can't help Jon like this.” There was a big part of Arthur who knew that Aurane was telling the truth and that he was so right but the way bigger part of him wanted to rush back to his son.

His son who was upset.

His son who had pushed himself to his limits.

His son who was so angry and just never let himself be angry because Arthur had fucking taught him that without wanting to.

“Jon has Torrhen, and you have us,” Andric said and put pressure on Arthur's shoulders so he would sit down on whatever boulder they had found. “Torrhen gets into Jon's head these days better than you do, and you know it. Sons are forever afraid to disappoint their fathers, we both live like that still and ours has been dust in the wind for a long long time.” Andric added on afterwards and then stepped back to let Arthur drag both hands through his hair and down his face.

He had had a headache all day long already, felt nauseous at the best of times and could feel something curdling under his skin that couldn't get out, something that demanded revenge and pain and blood, and yes, fucking fire as well. Robert's desire and true thoughts had been written all over his face, he wanted Jon to be the son he should have had a decade earlier. From another woman.

He still wanted something he could never have.

And he still blamed Arthur for taking it all away from him.

He still blamed Rhaegar for stars' sake.

“Darling, breathe,” Aurane's softened voice broke through the haze of hot red something in Arthur's head and he tried to breathe through it. He was fully aware he was scaring Aurane and his brother, that they hated to see him like this and that they didn't really know what to do. Didn't know what to do with angry Arthur, frankly no one really had had any idea, except maybe his father but then again Beric Dayne had seemed to know what to do at all times, in any situation, until those pirates gunned his ship into the sea.

Other men in Arthur's life had been helpless where it concerned his anger because even as a child he hadn't thrown tantrums, he had just steamed in it. Let it grow and grow and grow. And then he had been carrying a sword and then steel and then Dawn and at least that anger had had a way to go somewhere without hurting people, straw dummies, trees, Arthur had destroyed a lot of things in privacy when everything had just gotten too much.

But right now Arthur was too afraid that taking a sword, let alone Dawn into his hands with the intentions to cut away at a tree would lead to something very very different.

And wouldn't that be hilarious, after all the usual troublemakers Doran gave a talking to in order to have them behave, it could be Arthur Dayne who fucks things up.

“Arthur?”

“I'm here,” he said wearily and looked up at Andric, Aurane had settled down at his side, hand squeezing Arthur's own. “I think today something got made very clear, no matter how much time will pass Robert will always want me dead.”

“And you don't feel the same?” Andric surprised him a little with that question and Arthur frowned at him, “come on, little brother. I know it's been fourteen years and I know you are happy now but Rhaegar wasn't just someone for you.” Arthur looked away from him, over to the trees again, Aurane squeezed his hand. “Robert Baratheon killed him, and there has to be at least some small part in you still that wants him to pay for it in his own blood. At your hands. And I don't understand why we just don't talk about that more.”

“Do you think it'll make anything better?” Arthur wanted to know, feeling helpless because so many things nowadays were out of his control and he had to rely on other people and it just never seemed the right moment to lean back and just breathe.

“Fuck no,” Aurane joined in as well and his brutal honest assessment made Arthur even smile, “it won't help one bit. I spent my fair share of time ranting over how much I want Robert Baratheon to pay, how many times I imagined Tywin Lannister or Jon Arryn to choke on their fucking disgusting pride. It doesn't help in letting the feeling disappear, it won't change that Rhaegar, Oswell, Elia and all the others are still dead, that they got killed. But it certainly doesn't make the situation worse, quite contrary to sitting on it.”

“The three at the tower,” Arthur began hesitantly and was glad the other two let him go at whatever pace he wanted, “it was pain as well but it was mostly anger. Oswell... after we got the news, after I had cried myself out, there was just raw pain and anger left and Oswell tried to keep up. He offered again and again and again, and we fought until he couldn't anymore. And then Os said those fateful words 'take the tree, imagine it's him'.”

“Him meaning Robert,” Andric guessed and Arthur nodded, he had only entertained Oswell's stupid little idea because he had been too wired to hold still and it had felt so good. Too good.

“How am I supposed to go on? Knowing that Robert dreams of nothing else than taking my son from me before killing me?” Arthur asked without expecting an answer, because how could there be an answer. “When I know exactly how he wants to strike the killing blow? I still have that dream, you know,” Arthur turned to Aurane and was glad Andric didn't look offended over being left out. “Standing on the battlefield, unable to move, forced to watch Robert strike Rhaegar down. But lately... I'm used to seeing Rhaegar's face change to different people, yours being the most prominent,” Arthur confessed and Aurane leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“And now it's Jon?” Andric took a good guess but Arthur shook his head because wouldn't that be logical and only what was expected. It was in parts so much worse.

“No,” he had to say and then looked up to meet his brother's eyes, “it's Torrhen.” He hated how his voice got choked up but it twisted his heart still as if he was back in that dream, just thinking about it made his heart pick up pace. “Rhaegar is kneeling on the ground, head low and then suddenly he turns into Torrhen and... that sword turns into Dawn and Torrhen gets up with a roar and they fight, and fight. And I can't do anything. I can't move until Torrhen screams and then goes silent, out of sight. So silent. I want Robert dead, nothing has changed there.”

“So stop pretending otherwise,” Aurane insisted and Arthur looked over to him again, “talk to me, vent at me, let me at least try to lessen your frustration.”

“Arthur, you know we're not just here for Jon,” Andric added as well and Arthur sighed, deep and long, “we got your back as well. And _if _Jon says those words and _if_ a war will follow that, then you _won't be alone_. And no one is going to sideline you again. If Robert wants that fight, he will pay for what he did.”

And that was the moment that Shadow broke through the trees and Arthur's heart stopped again.

\--

There was absolute utter silence when Torrhen hit the ground hard, sword falling from his hand and violet eyes staring in pure shock at darker ones where Jon was panting above him, blade of Quentyn's sword pressed against Torrhen's neck with the flat side. For the first time Jon had gained the upper hand against Torrhen.

“Jon, I need you drop that sword and take a step back.” Jace was the first who broke the silence, the first who moved, Torrhen could see him slowly approaching Jon who was still glaring into thin air. Torrhen didn't dare move or even breathe too deeply until Jace was carefully uncurling Jon's hands from the swordhilt and then kicked said blade off to the side. “Torrhen, scram.” Not letting himself be told twice, Torrhen rolled himself to the side and then hurried onto his knees, hissing when he straightened up and felt his back throb already. Hands helped him up and Barristan looked him over, gentle fingers prodding over his shoulders and spine.

And caught in his shock still, Torrhen of course didn't catch how Jon turned from shock to panic and bolted. Gone from one moment to the next.

“Jon!” He could only call after him and then nearly drop to his knees again when he turned too fast and yelped against the pain that shot up his back if Barristan hadn't caught him. Ghost raced after his master. “I have to go after him.” Torrhen protested and then nearly lost his footing again by just making a simple movement to get away from Barristan's hands.

“No, you have to sit down and let someone look you over.” Barristan shushed him gently and pulled him towards the log where Oberyn quickly pulled up his tunic, revealing reddened skin.

“But Jon...” Torrhen gasped out, short on breath as the now settling in pain robbed him of his air, Barristan went to one knee in front of him and took his face in both hands.

“Jon will need a moment.” Barristan told him and Torrhen made to complain because they couldn't let Jon alone right now, not right now, not when he tought that he had... “Hey, look at me, Torre,” drawn by instinct to listen as it always was with him, Torrhen looked back at those wise blue eyes, “I've seen this happening before, my boy. Seen it happening with men double your ages. I've seen it happening with Jon's very own father,” Barristan mentioned and Torrhen actually welcomed the distraction from Oberyn's careful but nevertheless painful inspection of his back, gods it hurt.

“Which one?” He asked to keep from thinking about the horror in his veins, this moment of complete terror as he had hit the ground and felt Quentyn's blade at his neck, seen the shock in Jon's eyes. It was also so godsdamn amazing to finally be fully honest with Barristan, to be able to stop thinking about every second word because it might accidentally reveal something, Jon had done him such a favor by allowing Arthur to tell his old friend. “The wonder child or the one not really caring about his martial skills?” Torrhen wanted to know in his most sarcastic tone, right hand snapping forward and digging fingers into the armor plate covering Barristan's shoulder when Oberyn tapped fingers against his spine.

“The wonder child,” Barristan's answer surprised him enough that he somehow managed to raise an eyebrow despite the grimace on his face. Barristan moved one hand to the back of his head. “You know that it was Arthur who basically taught Rhaegar how to fight, of course never with Dawn in his hands but give Arthur a spoon and he'll just need enough motivation to defeat you. He always held back with Rhaegar, and Rhaegar hated it, so one day he needled Arthur enough, used a friend's frustration and anger over other issues to get a real fight. And he paid for his overeager desire to see his best friend at full strength, Arthur knocked him to the ground and even nicked him with the blade of his sword. We had to search the whole castle for hours until he finally found Arthur. Jon needs a moment right now, to calm down again without seeing your face.”

“He can't be alone on...”

“He's not alone.” Oberyn shushed him, fingers prodding deeper against Torrhen's lower back, “Ghost went after him, and so did my father.” Torrhen closed his eyes, partly due to work against the nausea caused by the pain, partly due to the relief hitting him a little, Elion was at least one of the few people he could accept at Jon's side right then. Breathing a little deeper again, Torrhen finally gave in to being held back and sacked forward until his forehead could rest against Barristan's left shoulder.

“I got you,” Barristan promised him quietly, “I got you, boy. Shadow, get Arthur.”

\--

“Torrhen!”

He looked up when he heard his uncle's voice, saw him running closer with Andric, Aurane and Benjen following him, “Are you okay?”

“Give it a day's rest and he'll be fine.” Barristan answered for him, stroking a hand through sweaty dark hair as Arthur crouched down at their sides. “His back will look like a masterpiece painting but nothing is damaged.” Arthur breathed out and tried to take another deep breath right away, all that calm achieved with Aurane's and Andric's talking to had gotten blown right out of the window when Shadow had come running, whining and howling and tugging on his sleeve.

“What happened?” Aurane wanted to know from Jace who was standing off to the side, halfway between this little space where the boys had kept up with their daily sparring without venturing out to the official training's yard of the tourney and the Martell tent that belonged to Oberyn and his daughters.

“Torrhen wanted to get Jon's anger out, gave him a sword which if anyone would have listened to me,” Jace gritted out between his teeth but couldn't get further because Torrhen struggled himself to his feet and pointed a finger in his direction.

“You don't get anyone listening to yourself!” Torrhen hissed and Arthur blinked at the sudden hostility in his voice, he had heard from Ashara that there was growing tension between the boy and Jace in recent moons, he hadn't realized it was this bad though. “You don't get to tell me how I handle my brother! How I choose to be there for them when your only solution was to fuck off for good!”

“Torrhen!” Andric called out in a surprised tone but Arthur waved him down again, wanted to see this out, the circumstances they found themselves in right then letting it dawn on him what could have been the tension between these two after all. Jace had tried something that hadn't been his right, or his position. With Rhaena and him growing closer over a multitude of visits and even one short voyage to Braavos, Jace must have believed that he might have a chance of connecting with his daughter's brother as well.

He just hadn't counted in that Torrhen had made his choice for father figure already.

And said man was just now sitting on that log Torrhen had just left, one hand still outstretched where he had comforted the boy and held him around the shoulders.

“You have no right to tell me how I decide to help Jon with his anger! If I want to hand him a sword I will hand him a sword and no one will tell me otherwise, least of all you!” Torrhen snapped and he was all wolf on the prowl, despite the obvious pain in his limbs he moved closer to Jace like predator, eyes glowing. “You think you can return from your fucking exile and suddenly make it all about happy family? Newsflash, Jace, my mother doesn't want you and **I** certainly don't want you in our life more than necessary! I tolerate you only for my sister's sake and for Aurane's!” And those words hit home, Arthur could feel Aurane wince at his side and reached for his hand. “I don't want you as my father! My father is dead! And the only man I want to fill that role already did!”

Standing right in front of Jace by then, taller than him as Arthur noted for the first time really, Torrhen wrenched an arm back and pointed at Barristan whose face turned into stunned amazement.

“If you want to give orders and be heard so badly, Jace, then go back to your fucking Company!” Torrhen finished up his explosion and then shoved a still silent Jace back a step. “Now, excuse me, I'm gonna find Jon.”

“No, you're not,” Arthur decided because what the boy needed was to lay down, Torrhen turned around and looked over to him, betrayed and tired and in pain. He was raw and reeling from what had happened even if Arthur still didn't have a clue. Torrhen needed someone to look after him instead of looking after others right now. “You are going to lay down and rest until tonight.”

“But...”

“That is an order, Torrhen!” Arthur sharpened his tone and Torrhen shied back, he knew he would need some time repairing this tomorrow but the boy needed to listen right now. Positively ashamed then, Torrhen's shoulders dropped and he nodded.

“Come on,” Barristan said as he got to his feet and moved over to him, hands gentler than ever as he wrapped an arm around Torrhen's shoulders, “I think we all need a bit of rest today.” And Torrhen let himself be led away.

“Someone tell me _right now_ what happened!” Arthur demanded the second he knew Torrhen was out of earshot and he got back to his feet, switching his gaze between Jace, and Benjen and Oberyn who had just then decided to no longer lurk in the tent entrance of the older one's tent.

“Jon got one over Torrhen,” Benjen was thankfully finally bringing light into the situation and Arthur blinked at him, “never seen him fight like that before, and with someone else's sword no less. Torrhen was too shocked by it, couldn't react in time, Jon crashed him onto his back and set the sword to his neck, and then the panic set in.”

Oh.

Oh gods.

Oh _stars_.

Seems like Jon and him would have another thing in common now.

“Where is Jon?” He wanted to know next because obviously there was no sign of his son around anywhere and he winced as he recalled how long it had taken Gerold back in the day to find him deep in the tunnels below the Red Keep.

“He ran off,” Benjen explained to him and nodded towards the direction of the forest, “Ghost and Elion went after him.” So at least Jon wasn't alone, that was one stone off his shoulders.

“Come on,” Aurane said before he could, “let's go find our boy.”

\--

“Hey, hey, hey,” the voice did little to keep Jon from fighting against the arms that had finally wrapped around him after whoever had followed him had caught up to him only because Jon had not seen where he was running and stumbled over roots. “Hey, easy, stop hitting your grandfather.” And then Jon gave up and slumped back against Elion's chest, standing with him him somewhere in the middle of this damn forest. “Okay, okay, I got you. I got you, it's all gonna be okay.”

He shook his head, heart pounding in his chest, trying to break free, trying to flee.

He closed his eyes when his world was spinning too much now where he was keeping physically still.

Elion tightened his arms around him, “Jon, I need you to come back to me.” That was not an option, coming back meant facing what he had done, it meant facing what he had nearly done, what something in him had been ready to do because he had been just... so angry. Anger like he had never felt it before. There was still something in him that felt so foreign, it didn't belong, but it had been so easy to reach for it, so light in his hands and so easy to handle.

He had been so angry.

He had _wanted_ to cause pain.

But not to _him_.

Never to him.

“Jon, I know you're scared right now. I know it's terrifying but I got you and it's gonna be okay. Everyone will be okay.” Elion's voice was soothing but it didn't eradicate this something inside of him and Jon wanted to claw it out. “Okay, come here. Come, let's sit a moment.” He let himself be pulled over to a fallen over tree and then pushed down on it, Elion sat down next to him and Jon kept his eyes closed, he didn't want to see the world around him.

He wanted to escape, he wanted to fall asleep and dream those dreams again, those dreams where he was far away, flying over endless blue sea and forgotten empty city ruins. He wanted to escape to those dreams where he could run through the desert at night without ever growing tired.

“Just keep breathing, Jon, we're gonna sit here for now. No one is needed anywhere else.” Elion reminded him and his voice felt good.

“Can you keep talking?” Jon hence croaked out somehow and it hurt and there was a headache growing now but he had managed to get the words out. Small things, his father had once told him when these moments had come, _you start with small things_.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” Elion launched into something that Jon hadn't expected and it jolted his mind enough to at least marginally lessen the freakout, “As my luck had it I was of course in Sunspear when you arrived at the Water Gardens with the others, because the gods love me so much. Four days a moon I spent at Sunspear and of course it'll be that moment my own son's ship brings our lost children back home. I didn't know about you at first, how could I, when Doran told me everyone had safely arrived I was only thinking it were Arthur, Ashara and her children. I wanted to see them but Doran needed me for some issues so I thought a day or two won't have them disappear again.”

Jon listened and breathed.

“When I met Arthur down in the crypts, I was surprised. We hadn't parted ways on the best terms, you know what happened, but from the first second of seeing him standing in front of Lewyn's tomb I could see that he was a changed man. Damaged, yes, still very much hurting but he carried himself with a strength that he had never had before. Something that went beyond the physical, and I could take a good guess on what had changed for him. I had seen it with my own sons, I had seen it in Andric and so many other young men. He had become a father. It confused me terribly of course because Arthur was possibly the last person I knew who had ever wished for children of his own, and arguably how, where, with whom?”

Jon laughed, a painful wretched sound but he knew this story and he always laughed when Elion played up his confusion.

“So we talked, walked up to the gardens and for the first time in a long long time we really talked.” Elion still said those words with the gratitude and the fondness it had evoked in him, it had meant so much to him that Arthur had forgiven him that decision that Elion had made in favor of Oberyn. “And then he told me about you and I...”

“...couldn't believe that there was a little hope in the world left,” Jon finished the sentence that he had heard a couple of times already, the one that always gave him that skip in his heart.

Elion could have hated him, he could have blamed his very existence because how did he get to live when Elion's own daughter and her children could not. But Elion had from the very beginning chosen to fill the role that Jon couldn't have had anywhere else, in whatever identity he could have looked for it. Rickard Stark. Aerys Targaryen. Beric Dayne. All three men had died before Jon had even been born.

A grandfather.

“And then I met you, and gods you were so small. Hid yourself behind Arthur's legs, you certainly haven't been able to do that in a long time now.” Elion laughed and Jon looked over to him, “grown taller than me by now. I looked at you back then and my heart just knew that blood or no blood, this was my grandson. Rhaenys' and Aegon's little brother. And Elia would have loved him so. And like sweet Rhaenys he had come all after his mother in looks, except...”

“Except for the eyes, he had his father's eyes, like Rhaenys did as well.”

“Oh, it took so long to coax you out to even shake my hand,” Elion remembered with a fond smile, his arm coming around Jon again. “But one day later and this little guy catches me with a thick book in my hand and where my granddaughters start running, this little guy just takes one look at me and then proceeds to wring me dry with his questions. Politely. And I couldn't help but laugh on the inside because this was the son that Rhaegar and Arthur would have had if it were possible, and I knew from that moment on that I was gonna do everything to give him the childhood he wants and deserves until the day he decides if the throne lies in his path. As I read him this book that shouldn't have been interested to children at all, I told myself _you are going to protect this boy from everyone who might reach for his innocence_. Until the day he makes his choice.”

“Elion?”

“Hm?”

“How long have you known what I chose for the future?” Jon wanted to know and Elion pulled him closer until Jon could lean his head against his shoulder.

“The first time we saw each other after you returned from Pentos,” Elion explained to him and Jon smiled, hands reaching out when Ghost finally pushed himself closer, white head coming to rest on his thighs.

“You also know what I am going to want to talk with you about, don't you?” Jon asked and Elion leaned his head against the top of Jon's for a moment, squeezing his arm.

“I do but we're gonna talk about that when the time calls for it.”

“Alright,” Jon said and then looked up when Shadow broke through a wild grown berry bush and shook off leaves. “I think we've been found.”

“If you wanna make a run for it still, I'll hold them off,” Elion proposed but Jon shook his head, he wasn't okay but he didn't need to run anymore. Especially not from them, he decided as he watched how his father and Aurane struggled themselves through the bushes as well, faces worried and wild.

And both looking so godsdamn tired.

“Jon?” His Pa called out the second they saw them sitting there and Jon felt awful to have caused him so much panic and worry when their biggest concerns had just been averted.

“Did I hurt him?” He wanted to know because his stomach was turning in spins again and he felt sick at just the thought that he could have hurt his best friend, his brother, the boy who had promised to always be by his side.

“He bruised his back, with some rest today, he'll only be a little sore tomorrow.” His Pa gave him some relief but Jon still dropped his eyes back to the forest ground, saw that sword again so close to Torrhen's neck. “Jon, can you look at me?” Reluctantly Jon raised his eyes to meet his father's. “I know this is scary, believe me, _I know_, Jon. When it was me in your place, I actually drew blood. Not a lot, mind you, but I cut Rhaegar and I know the fear and the disgust that rolled over me was choking.”

“I was so angry, Pa.”

“I know,” his Pa repeated and slowly came forward, Ghost shuffled away and made room so Arthur could kneel down in front of Jon. “I know you were angry, and I also know you weren't angry at Torrhen but at Robert. At his Council. At their stares and their silence.”

“How do I stop being angry?” Jon helplessly asked all three of the older men but where Elion and Arthur were without words right there, Aurane had something to say.

And what he said would stick with Jon.

“You don't,” he began and everyone looked over to him, “in this, you don't. Because you can't stop being angry. In this whole situation, this whole war that led to disaster. Everything that brought us to where we are now. To stop being angry at it, it would mean accepting it. And we can't do that, never. We can never accept the injustice that was done to too many people. Aerys Targaryen killed innocent people and Rhaegar should have been smarter in what he wanted to achieve but Westeros is beginning to forget that Robert Baratheon let a man get away with the murder of an innocent woman and infants. Get away with the murder of innocents smallfolk who didn't even know what was happening to them. Robert Baratheon smiled at the sight of murdered children. We can't ever forgive him that, can never stop being angry about it. But we can't let it rule us because by doing so we would become him. We would become a man who let himself be consumed by anger over a man so badly that he wants to kill everything that man ever touched even a decade and a half later. He killed men in battle but others won him the crown by massacring a city full of innocents. Anger doesn't make bad people, bad people use anger to become worse.”

\--

“Papa!”

Robert smiled and swept the toddler with the outstretched arms up onto his lap, ruffling black hair into a mess and tipping a broad finger to a button nose. Purple eyes went cross eyed for a second and then the little boy giggled as he got comfortable against his father's chest.

“Remember them like this when they start demanding things all day long later,” Ned chuckled and sent a look over to where Robb rolled his eyes as he continued to get ready to head out with Domeric for the evening. Ned knew his son was going to meet up with some of his friends, as well as Jon and Torrhen and whoever would be along from their circle of companions. Sansa and Alys he had lost to Rhaena and the daughters of Prince Oberyn a long time ago, Ned had no doubt that Ashara would be able to a lend a far more capable hand to getting them ready for their first entertainment feast than he was.

And by a small chance of luck Arya would find that whole idea too boring anyway and stick to someone within the Dornish camp who wasn't in the mood to attend the festivities either, Arthur had certainly looked the part earlier. Across from him Robert noted the words down with a smile, he was calmer now, his old friend, a wife at his side who might not be the love of his life but in time they would find what Ned and Catelyn had.

And Delena had finally given him what Robert had so dearly wanted.

A son to call his own.

“I'll remember these days,” Robert answered Ned and rubbed a gentle hand over Orys' back, “this one already grows too fast. I don't want to imagine the problems and trouble awaiting me when he's the age of any of yours.”

“The bigger they get, the bigger the problems,” Ned told him and then made Robb wait with a quickly outstretched hand, Robert watched it all with a grin. “Domeric, Alys and you come back before the hour of the wolf, you will ensure that your sisters are in bed way before that, whether that be here or with the Daynes doesn't matter to me. You're old enough to carry responsibility for them, and if you think you cannot handle that alone you ask Jon and Torrhen to help you.”

“Yes, Father,” Robb grumbled and Robert thought back to when he had been that age, the first tourneys without a nursemaid's hand always at the elbow, that grumbled 'yes, Jon' and the quickly forgotten orders ten minutes later. “Your Grace,” Robb inclined his head and then was off, joining up with the Bolton boy and his own betrothed outside the tent to quickly vanish into the crowds.

“You're letting them leave without guards?” Robert wondered in surprise, long gone were the times where he could go anywhere without guards, he had made due with it, the damned whitecloaks were at least trained and doctrined to be silent and vanishing in their presence.

“They have a four-legged guard, Robert. Greywind is as effective as half of your Kingsguard,” in response to Ned's explanation the knight in the corner, the darn Crownlander boy, briefly flickered his eyes up but said nothing. A face of stone that one, even though the people liked him more than they did the Kingslayer or the old Lord Commander. Robert had been resolutely against appointing a Knight to the Kingsguard who came from dragonlover folk but Jon and Selmy had been insisting, said it would shine a sign towards the Crownlanders and fucking Corlyn Velaryon. “And they're only off to meet up with Jon and Torrhen anyway, which means two more wolves, and they look after each other.”

“He's quite something, your nephew,” Robert mentioned, looking on as his own son fell asleep, little puffs of air falling from his lips. Finally an heir, finally a healthy strong boy who was worthy of carrying the Baratheon name, despite the eyes but grandmother Rhaelle had been a beast of a woman and Robert had learned to push past the recoil of his son's eye color.

“I've got three of them now, Robert,” Ned reminded him gently and got up to get them another bottle of wine, “every sibling graced me with a nephew, even if two of them never got to enjoy their sons.”

“I nearly forgot,” Robert remembered the last letter sent before everyone had set out to travel towards Storm's End, “Benjen's got a third one.”

“Vorian,” Ned helped out, “he'll be dooted upon by his sisters and his cousins.” It was strange to think that the last time they had been able to enjoy an afternoon like this together at a tourney, they had been so much younger and neither of them nor their siblings had had children, at least not trueborn.

Harrenhall.

And now so much time had passed that two of Ned's nephews were partaking in the squire events. Brandon's bear of a son. And Lyanna's boy.

Robert had until the end hoped to see something in her son that told of her, that spoke of someone keeping her memory alike who wasn't her brothers but Jon Dayne was so much like his father. He didn't know why it disappointed him so much, he had a son of his own now but maybe that dream would never die, that idea of what could have been. Not one but two men had stolen Lyanna from him, twisted her heart until she had them as her heroes, and what did he hold up to Arthur Dayne.

How would anyone ever hold up to Arthur Fucking Perfect Dayne.

He had gotten rid of Rhaegar, the fucking dragon would never look upon anyone ever again, and it was a damn insolence that Robert wouldn't be able to do the same with Dayne, all in the name of keeping peace in the damn kingdoms. Fucking connections and fucking talks, fucking Corlyn Velaryon with too much power and influence.

Give him one chance, one single chance and he would demand that fight and he would show them that even the damn wonder child wasn't invincible. Even Arthur Dayne was just a man in the end, and every man could die. That smart boy, grown up in that sinkhole of Dornish influences on him, it was no miracle he saw no future for himself outside of Dorne, all of those bastards in his head. It was a shame, a pity, Orys would need someone like Jon at court later on, but Robert couldn't let an invitation of Jon's to court be an invitation to Dorne.

They weren't welcomed by him, even less so were they welcomed in the future of his son.

He needed to find a way to get this boy out of Dorne, and Brandon's son right along, these boys didn't belong into a desert that swallowed them up. They were of Stark blood.

“How did you manage to make peace with them?” He asked Ned after a long moment of silence, Ned looked back over to him and thought about his words for a second.

“By letting the past remain the past and by accepting that their lives will always be different from mine. Dorne is different from the rest of Westeros, Robert,” Ned reminded him, as if he had to, as if dozens of failed negotiations hadn't already taught Robert that lesson. “You can't fight against them, especially not if they choose the battlefield. You can't fight them in their home. The gods only know people tried and look what it got them. Accept them for who they are and let them live in peace, you have enough other corners of the Seven Kingdoms who actually need a King's hand.”

Robert saw all of that very different.

He was delayed from saying a word though because Jaime Lannister slipped into the tent, “Your Grace, I'm here to take over for Ser Adrian.”

“Where is Selmy?” Robert grunted because he was just about capable of keeping the order of his guards in mind and it was Selmy's turn, the old man preferred the early evening shift so the younger ones of his white brothers could enjoy the festivities a little.

“Apparently Torrhen Sand got injured on the sparring yard and I offered Barristan to stay with him.” Lannister explained and waved Ser Adrian away who bowed to his King and then rushed off. “I don't know what happened, my Lord,” Lannister also added before Ned could ask the question he had opened his mouth for. “I just know that Barristan is fond of the boy and I offered up an exchange of duties. I hope it agrees with you, Your Grace?”

“I don't care who is below the cloak shadowing me,” Robert grunted and shifted Orys higher up against his shoulder, “let Selmy be with the boy. Ser Severin!” He called in the second white cloak who had remained outside to stand guard there. The young man immediately poked his head inside, “make sure to send a runner into the Dornish camp, if the boy needs anything he'll get it.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

So, Selmy was fond of the boy.

Maybe that was a hook to get in. Maybe like that he could save both boys from their Dornish fate, Lyanna's son deserved so much better.

And then one day he could deal with Arthur Dayne, after he had gotten that chance to show Lyanna's son that there were better people to look up to.

\--

“Who is he?”

Tyene sat down on the bench next to him and Jon looked up to find out whom she had taken into her sight in the crowd of the last evening feast before the actual events would start tomorrow. The squire melee and the squire joust would start it all off, in the days after that the melee rounds and the first rounds for the champion's joust would begin. The mood was grand, the people in their cups and laughing or dancing.

The person of Tyene's interest turned out to be Lysaro Rogare who was talking with Vaemon and Renly just off the dancefloor. Jon very quickly regretted that Willas had volunteered to get them more drinks, Tyene would only start a conversation that Jon didn't want to have with her. Nevertheless he played along for the moment because she had been there for him earlier, and Jon didn't know how far he would have fallen still if it hadn't been for Tyene, he owed her at least one awkward conversation about pretty boys.

“Really?” Jon wanted to know and turned surprised eyes towards Tyene whose glittering dress made her look like a nightsky full of stars. He might have been stepped past that crush on her a while ago already but she was still one of his closest friends and he cared about her, and he cared even more about protecting her from the eyes of those idiots who didn't see the real her, just a pretty body, “I know something you don't? Miracles can happen?” Teasing her was always fun though.

“Stop being so smug. Who is he?” Tyene demanded to know and he smiled, turning around so he could look at her better, Tyene raised an eyebrow. It was still sometimes mind boggling for Jon to think back to times when she had seemed a goddess to him, so out of this world beautiful and unreachable. As he had grown older and had stopped being just a little boy walking after her with starry eyes and a hand clutching her skirts. Tyene had become human and behind Torrhen his second closest friend.

So for now he was gonna entertain her curiosity, for now.

“That, dear Ty,” he started and leaned in just to annoy her impatience even more, “is Lysaro Rogare.” He unraveled the mystery and Tyene's eyes widened.

“Ohh,” she cooed and her lips curled up into a sharp smile, the kind that made Jon uncomfortable on the face of any woman or girl, “our little almost prince. He is so handsome.” And there they went, ruining a perfectly good moment.

“I'm leaving.” Jon decided and was already halfway on his feet when Tyene groaned and pulled him down again, hooking one arm around his to keep him seated next to her.

“Oh, come on, stay,” she complained and Jon glared at Torrhen when his cousin was laughing at his face from where he was sitting with Quentyn, Anders, Robb and Domeric and some of their other friends, “tell me about him.”

“I don't think so.” Jon heartily chose to deadpan right while looking at Tyene because crush over or not, he was not going to put himself in that position where they were going to talk about boys. Just no. Was he going to take them apart inside out, look into their past and question them endlessly about their intentions if Tyene ever found someone she really meant it seriously with? Yes. Was he willing to sit through endless awkward discussions over potential Mister Rights?

Hells no.

“Well, which girl is it gonna be for Jon then?” Tyene shot right back because where most other people in his life had just given up in keeping up with an argument, she had simply adapted herself to his speed. “Can't be pining after me for all your life.” She pointed out and he elbowed her, Jon didn't want to talk about girls either, probably even less so. “I keep being flattered by it though.”

“Shut up, Tyene.”

“Aw, you're blushing,” Tyene cooed and Jon wanted to kill her with a look alone but Tyene simply hooked herself under his arm, leaned closer and fluttered her eyeslashes at him.

“You're awful,” he deadpanned for good now and nevertheless kissed her forehead because even annoying all Seven Hells out of him she was still anchored in his heart.

“Tell meee.” Tyene whined, still digging for names but he was not going to give her one, even if they might have been someone. Jon knew, now more than ever, that no girl at his side could ever be just his. And whatever relationship laid ahead in his future would be watched by more eyes than just his family.

“No, I'm not playing this game.” He therefore insisted and Tyene's eyes told him that she understood, that she had gotten the message, that she knew he couldn't give his heart out to fancies. Not after what happened to his parents. Or Aunt Ashara and Uncle Brandon. Or the situation Aunt Ashara found herself in now with Ser Barristan. Jon couldn't put love over duty, he also couldn't place duty over love, he needed to find a balance.

“Jonny, come on.”

“_Never_ ever call me that again.”

“Jon,” came the saving grace call from Willas' voice and Jon snapped his head around to stare at him in what he hoped was the most 'please rescue me' look he could instantly come up with. Willas raised an eyebrow in response and then glanced over to Tyene who no doubt changed from devious teasing smirk to knock them dead charme. How Jon had ended up with the two most charming people in their world as his closest friends he really didn't know.

“Oh thank the stars, Willas, perfect moment.” He breathed out deep and twitched when Tyene pinched his leg, “please go embarrass someone else, Ty.”

“I'll be back,” she reminded him sweetly, kissed his cheek and then stood up, dress swinging and Jon wasn't unaware of how Willas looked at her. “I'll be watching you, Jon.”

“I know!” He growled after her and then with the sound of Tyene's bell like laughter growing more silent in his ears he dragged a hand down his face and faced Willas again who had sat back down across the table from him, setting down new cups.

“Still a force of nature?” Willas guessed right into the blue and Jon snorted, glancing in the direction Tyene had vanished to and saw her approaching Holden who was talking to a Kingsguard squire if Jon wasn't mistaken.

“Her? She'll thankfully never change,” he answered Willas' question and took a deep sip of the watered down wine, checking around to see where Torrhen had ended up by now. After their brief moment of talking it out earlier, Jon had told Torrhen to skip around, dance, flirt, be as social as he wanted and not just stick around where Jon was planning on keeping to familiar faces. He found Torrhen dancing with Jynessa Blackmont and smiled when he briefly caught Torrhen's grinning eyes. “Okay, where were we?” He asked then and turned his attention back on Willas.

“Plotting my escape to Starfall.”

\--

“Who is that girl?”

Torrhen looked up from his cup and over to where his sister had sat herself down at his side, her eyes glued to Jon and his giggling conversation partner two tables over. It was the first time the whole evening really where Jon wasn't sitting with Tyene or Willas and of course it was this moment where Rhaena had remembered who they were.

“Sera Rogare,” he gave his sister a name to the face of the girl who was her age, and though Torrhen considered himself not too biased over it, Sera Rogare was by far not as beautiful as his sister. She was pretty with her pale blond hair done up in curls, and her dress certainly was not a sore on the eyes but Rhaena had grace and a beauty that ran deeper than just looks. “She's the daughter of Lord Maegor... Are you _jealous_?” He wanted to know with a smirk and another joke already on his lips as he turned to look at his sister.

“Of course not.” Rhaena insisted and flipped her braid back again, she was so pretty tonight that Torrhen was not really too happy about it because too many pairs of eyes were turning for her before those people remembered who the girl was they were oogling. And they didn't turn away because of her age, that was clear to Torrhen as well, they either turned away because they remembered she was a bastard or in the case of the owner of the eyes being Dornish they turned away because they very much knew what Torrhen would do to them.

Repeatedly.

With his bare hands.

“Oh my gods, you're absolutely jealous!” He gave his sister the laugh though and Rhaena punched his arm, Torrhen rolled his eyes and nodded over to Jon. “Just go over there then, Jon talks to these people because he wants to be polite.” Sera Rogare wasn't any different from all the other people that Jon had talked to already during this tourney, mostly because Willas had introduced them, Sera was just the first girl among those people.

Torrhen wasn't thinking anything by it, Jon hadn't shown any interest in girls so far aside from that long since cooled down crush on Tyene, no matter how much Torrhen had tried. Jon had kissed a girl, that was about as far as his experience in that area went, contrary to Torrhen himself, but even about that Jon didn't want to talk and Torrhen had to make due with his own guesses. Considering Jon's usual awkwardness around girls since Rhaena had left for the Water Gardens Torrhen's only guess went to Tyene as the one likely candidate.

“He doesn't look unhappy or uncomfortable.” Rhaena pointed out like it was the most important thing to analyze Jon's behavior tonight. Of all nights, it had to be the one where they could relax and sit back and drink and dance because no one was apparently going to come for their heads after all. “In fact he looks quite content.” Briefly Torrhen closed his eyes and then blew out a breath before facing Rhaena once more.

“You know why I'm here?” He asked her, very much rhetorically, “because they've talked about nothing else but Lyseni politics, cannot possibly be any drier. Believe me. She is just as much a bookworm as he is, Jon just wants to know more about her family's history, especially her family's history with the Company.”

“It's exactly the kind of talk Jon enjoys.”

“You know,” Torrhen stopped whatever further commentary could have fallen from his sister's lips, this was getting ridiculous, she hadn't acted this childish since long before she had left to be a handmaiden for Arianne, “the easiest way to achieve his attention would be to be over _there_ and talk to _him_ instead of sitting here with me, brooding and glowering in jealousy.”

“I'm not jealous.” Rhaena snapped at him and Torrhen only raised an eyebrow, waiting patiently for Rhaena to see the irony in the tone of her own voice. Jon was her brother, too, and if she only went over there and asked for a dance or even just a single minute of his time, Jon was immediately gonna give it to her. “I'm not jealous, I just think he should enjoy these evenings, dance a little, not just sit and talk.”

“Keep telling yourself that, little sister. You're not even reacting like this when Jon spends time with Tyene.”

“You suck.” Rhaena hissed at him and rushed to her feet again, picking up her skirts to make her exit from his presence even more dramatic, nose held high.

“I love you, too.” Torrhen yelled after her just to have the last word in a sibling argument for once, watching after his sister until she reached the table where their mother was talking with Barristan, uncle Corlyn and aunt Justine.

Barely a moment passed before another body planted itself down next to Torrhen and he glanced over, right away raising an eyebrow when he found Richard smirking at him. “What?”

“You need to loosen up a little, boy, tension is over,” Richard drawled and Torrhen scoffed at him, “come on, live a little, Torre. Jon has been glued to Vaemon and Willas all evening already, talking about boring stuff that only the three of them could possibly find entertaining.” Truth in word because just then Vaemon and Willas returned from where they had fetched Lysaro Rogare to join them. “See, voluntarily stuck at a table with a Lord Paramount's heir, the Crownland's most favourite son and the boy who is basically a Lyseni Prince. There are so many watchful eyes on them, nothing can happen. Lysaro is being shadowed by Company soldiers, Torre, not because they're paid but because he's Rivers' true heir, so drop the watchdog stance for one night.”

“And do what?” Torrhen wanted to know warily, he could already feel his uncle's eyes burning a hole into the back of his head, even though it wasn't possible at all because Arthur had chosen not to attend the joined public entertainment of the evening. He wasn't feeling well and Aurane and him had remained back in the Dornish camp. Still Torrhen felt that judgement. “You know I will be hung out to dry if Uncle hears about any exploits. Everything I do paints a picture of the kind of mentor he is and...”

“Do you remember who you're talking to?” Richard interrupted him with a deadpanned stare that almost could have turned Torrhen's ears red. “I swear you kids keep on forgetting that we old folk were young once. I was squire to a Crown Prince and basically half a squire to your uncle, when he was still a Kingsguard. You don't need to tell me about actions leading back to paint a picture of others. Come on, let me introduce you to some tricks on how to have fun without upsetting the pearly image of Arthur 'White Knight' Dayne.”

Torrhen groaned but also gave in and let himself be pulled to his feet and then led away by Richard, over into the Stormlander corner where Richard had been previously talking to some old acquaintances.

\--

Later that evening Jon let Torrhen go ahead and get ready for bed in their tent, convinced that even drunk as he was, he might just still be able to take off his boots and pants and not choke to death on his doublet. Or at least Shadow would howl for help if his master did end up being so stupid. Jon instead walked over to the tent right next to theirs where only a little light still showed that either his Pa or Aurane weren't asleep yet, maybe even both of them if he was lucky.

Feeling warm from the Reacher wine that Willas had managed to convince him to try after all, Jon opened the tent entrance and smiled when he saw his Pa sitting up on the bed with a book in hand and a snoring niece draped all over him. Propped up in a chair by the small table, Aurane looked up from his writings, feet warmed by a big ball of grey fur, Nymeria only grazed Jon with a short blink before she went back to sleep.

“So it was Torrhen and you coming back,” Jon's Pa mentioned quietly when Jon sat down on the edge of the cot, “been wondering what the giggling and the not really whispering was all about.”

“Torrhen got into Richard's eager hands,” Jon explained in a dry voice and his father's face turned into a thundercloud for a brief moment that promised words for Richard in the morning, over by the table Aurane bit into his hand to keep from laughing, mindful not to wake Arya. “Are you feeling any better?”

“I'm good, Jon, I promise,” his Pa insisted and nodded over to the stool next to the bed whose surface was filled with potions, “Oberyn came by and Elion talked to me. I just need some sleep. Which I can get now because I know we're gonna be okay.”

“About that,” Jon was thankful that the topic was brought up, Aurane's quill immediately stopped and he turned around to look over to him, too, “I want to tell Jaime Lannister.”

“Are you sure?”

“You trust him, both of you do. And I saw him today at the meeting, he deserves to know the truth. He blames himself for my siblings' death and no matter how many times you tell him it wasn't his fault, it's not gonna make a lot of a difference but I could achieve it. As Aegon's brother, as Rhaenys' brother,” Jon gave his reasoning and he just knew it in his gut that Jaime Lannister needed to know, that he couldn't be half wrapped up in something again while being surrounded by secrets he wasn't even aware of. “Torrhen agrees with me. With Barristan and Ser Adrian already knowing, Jaime can't be left out.”

“It'll mean a lot to him, Jon, and it means a lot to me, too.”

\--

“I'm getting quite nervous.” Jaime admitted very quietly and still followed Arthur without an ounce of hesitation or signs of slowing down. It was a sign of loyalty that Arthur very much appreciated. Especially now where they were on their way to reveal this big secret to another person.

“It's nothing bad, nothing to worry about.” Arthur reassured Jaime with a smile and turned around the corner towards the little clearing at the edge of the cliffs, Storm's End was a distant sight looming over the bay in the light of a still rising sun. Jon was sitting on a rock with Shadow and Ghost dozing at his feet, and Arthur only had a moment left to wonder whom he had picked to be here with them for this before he saw Aurane and Richard leaning against the one lone tree.

He stopped and turned to face Jaime who had stiffened upon the sight of Jon with the wolves, and then grew positively tense with stress when Torrhen and Jace stepped up to block the path they had taken and Griff revealed himself as well.

“Ser Jaime,” Jon spoke up before the silence could have become too cutting, “Please, take a seat.” And he motioned a hand towards the unoccupied other rock across from him.

“What is the meaning of this? I feel like I am being set on trial. And where did you come from? I thought you were dead.” Jaime bristled and Arthur set a hand upon his shoulder, hoping to calm him, while Jaime and Griff glared at each other.

“Lord Connington's presence is a mere happenstance and has nothing to do with the conversation I want to have with you.” Jon turned green eyes back on himself, Arthur took his cue and gently pushed Jaime over to the indicated rock. “This is no trial, Ser Jaime. I merely would like a conversation.” Jon pointed out calmly and Jaime cautiously took a seat across from him, feet twitching away from Ghost and Shadow even though both wolves were entirely ignorant of his presence, at least on the outside.

“About what?” Jaime also wanted to know and sent a look from Jon to Arthur, Aurane and Richard before settling back on the youngest on this cliff.

“I fear you'll have to wait a moment still until we can get there. Tell me, Ser Jaime, if you exclude my cousin, what do these men you see here have in common?” Jon had chosen an interesting path to lead the topic towards where he needed it, he could have gone for blunt and right in the face but he was more careful about, Arthur could only admire him more for it.

Arthur could as well also easily see how Jaime's eyes flickered over Aurane, Richard, Jace, Griff and him before coming to a gasping realization.

“They once held Prince Rhaegar's trust.”

They were the only people aside from Oswell, Ashara, Myles and Elia who held Rhaegar's trust for years. This was Rhaegar's surviving circle, these were his men and these would always be his men in some way.

“And now they hold mine.” Jon brought the judgement down and confusion turned Jaime's face into almost a scowl, and Arthur would have been concerned if he hadn't seen the boy Jaime had once been grow into a man. “And I wonder if I can give you the trust that Prince Rhaegar never dared to?” Jon asked, bluntness speaking for once, Arthur sent him a quick warning look, it was risky to dive into a wound that was not long healed over. They needed Jaime.

  
“What for?” Jaime very slowly and very carefully spoke those words out and turned from staring at Jon to looking at Arthur, trying to gain inside into whatever was going on here from a more familiar face but Arthur kept his blank. Hating himself for it but needing to do so, this wasn't his right to tell, to give away, this was Jon's decision.

“To protect my family. And protect my future.” Jon clarified but Jaime didn't yet catch on, confusion settling deeper as he fixed his eyes back on Jon.

“Your _future_?”

Regardless of friend or not, Jaime was still a Kingsguard, and they were asking a lot from a man whose loyalty and oaths had already been torn to shreds once by men who had only wanted to hurt another through him.

“House Targaryen owes you, Ser Jaime,” Jon said it without even twitching or blinking whereas Arthur saw how Torrhen curled a hand around the hilt of his sword, stopped only when Jace laid a hand on his shoulder. Torrhen loosened his hand but also immediately shrugged Jace's hand off again, he didn't particularly care about their made friendships, and their past connections, all he cared about was protecting Jon. “A great trust and an even greater apology for the terrible things that you have been put through.”

“It's an honorable thought,” Jaime mentioned awkwardly in response to that, shifting away something that could be called flight instinct. Barristan had written Arthur more than once over the years that though Jaime had forgiven himself and accepted his own past, he still had immense trouble with having other people talk positively about his deeds unless they were Arthur himself. “Unfortunately it is one that cannot be fulfilled anymore.”

“It can.”

Arthur tensed, couldn't help it, couldn't help but fear the worst when the words would fall from Jon's lips soon. He trusted Jaime but Jon was his son, he needed to protect him most of all. And he wasn't the only one, Aurane's eyes were focused on Jaime's face, hand over his dagger, Jace and Torrhen were trailing fingers over the hilts of their swords now. Richard and Griff were tense.

If it came down to it, Arthur knew that he wouldn't be able to even severely hurt Jaime, he had knighted the boy for fuck's sake, he wanted a friend to remain a friend. He also knew though maybe more inclined to not hesitate, Aurane or Griff and even Richard were no match for Jaime. Jace and Torrhen were the biggest threats.

“How?” Jaime chuckled, a little hysterically and Arthur sent Jon another look, be careful, be kind, be understanding. “By a little girl lost in the deserts of Essos?” Jaime asked with his mouth tightening into a thin line, Griff and Jace exchanged a look behind Jaime, that secret was still very much safe then. Good to know. Daenerys needed to be kept safe, to give her the childhood that Viserys hadn't been able to have, at least one of Rhaegar's siblings should have a chance to be innocent, to be young, to be a child.

“No, by Rhaegar's son. _By me_.”

Jaime jumped to his feet, eyes wide as he stumbled a few steps back until Richard caught him.

“You're lying.” Jaime gasped out and he was in full panic mode, struggling against Richard's hold on him without being able to even keep himself on his own feet.

“I have no reason to lie.” Jon pointed out without losing his own calm and got to his feet, a quick wave of his hands made sure the wolves staid down, Shadow entertaining the order for once. “Entrusting this secret to you, Ser Jaime, puts me in a very delicate situation, don't you think? It endangers me, the men you see standing here with me and all of our families. Arthur most of all, so why should I lie?”

“Jaime...” Arthur's voice prompted Jaime to snap his head around to stare at him, Richard's hands still keeping him upright, “He's not lying, he's telling the truth.” Arthur felt compelled to add to Jon's line of facts and green eyes laid on him immediately, desperate, confused, so confused.

“You...”

“I protected Rhaegar's and Lyanna's son by hiding him as my own, by raising and loving him as if he was my own,” Arthur explained and he smiled when Jon came to stand at his side, leaning against him, “He married her, on the Isle of Faces near Harrenhall, Elia knew and she understood. Elia had her own secrets from the world, you know that just as much as I do.” Jaime's legs buckled under him and Richard couldn't hold him, could only lower him down slowly, Arthur stepped forward and went to his knees in front of Jaime.

“I wrote you again and again that your mistakes have been forgiven, that the failures you see are not real, they're only in your head. I wrote you to let people in, to accept that they forgive you, too. I wrote you to carry that despicable title with pride because you saved King's Landing from a terrible fate. I did not want to hide this secret from you but there are people at court who are too dangerous to be too close to this knowledge.” Arthur couldn't say it enough times, he needed Jaime to understand that it had never been an issue of trust, he had wanted to protect him from being buried alive by pressure again. “I didn't tell Barristan until two days ago either. Jaime, I know what life at court is like, I didn't want to put that on your shoulders.”

“I wouldn't deliver Rhaegar's son to Robert, not even the knowledge of it.” Jaime was quick to defend himself and Arthur stopped him with a hand.

“I know, Jaime, I know,” he emphasized it as much as he could, _I trust you_ he wanted it to say without actually speaking the words out loud, _you know that I trust you_, “it is not Robert, I worry about.”

“Who then? Who is the danger you see if not Robert? He wants to _kill you_, Arthur,” Jaime got louder, waking maybe a little regret in Arthur over having been so honest with an old friend in a letter that had spoken about his frustrations over Robert a little too long. Arthur had also for once been a little in his cups, Aurane had been away at sea, Jon and Torrhen had been in Sunspear. And Arthur had sat down to write and ended up confessing to Robert's freaking Kingsguard that the man wished to kill him like he had Rhaegar. “I dare say there is not a day that passes without him entertaining his little fantasies.” They both twitched, those words sounding a bit too much like Aerys to not still feel the horror of it more than a decade later. “Lady Lyanna gave you what he never got from her, a child, a son, love. That's what he thinks anyway. He wants to kill you more than he **ever** raged for Rhaegar's blood, who could be more dangerous than that?”

“Lord Varys.” Aurane answered and came to crouch down on Arthur's right side, “We both know how tight his web is spun and thanks to my brothers we now know what is at the end of those strings and plans.” Aurane wriggled his fingers, good-natured as he approached even a potential future crisis, they had created secret hand signs for some of the King's Landing players already. And Vaemon's deeply ingrained childhood disgust of spiders had inspired Aurane's idea for Varys.

“I thought Varys was fighting for the Targaryen girl?” Jaime went back to confusion and glanced over to Jon who had been joined by Torrhen, both boys watching them with rather blank faces.

“We thought so, too,” Jon was nevertheless the one who answered the question, Arthur still found himself impressed that the news and half a hand of loyalty that Lady Daena Rogare had given him in Pentos had inspired Jon to keep up a steady correspondence with her. “We thought him to be plotting for Viserys and then for Daenerys after my uncle died but Varys is fighting for another dragon.”

“_Another dragon_?”

“You should better say that Varys _is_ another dragon,” Jace spoke up in response to Jaime's confusion and green eyes flickered over to the older man. Jaime didn't really hide the uncertainty in his eyes when looking at Aurane's brother, he had come to court long after Jace had been gone, all he knew about the middle brother of the Velaryons was information gotten from Arthur's still ongoing unimpressed thoughts about Jace's allegiance to the Golden Company and Aurane's rather blindsided stories about an admired older brother. “He's a Blackfyre, descendant of Daemon's youngest daughter who married a Tiroshi noble. The Black Dragon isn't dead at all.”

They were only dead in name.

Westerosi and also Essosi's old-fashioned and thick-brained narrow-minded view on male lines carrying on the family name only had made them think that a House, a legacy, a bloodline could just be ruptured by ending the male line of descendants. Daemon Blackfyre's House had officially ended when Maelys the Monstrous had died under Barristan's blade but his bloodline had long since kept on existing.

Four daughters. The man had had four daughters, all of whom had been married off to influential supporters or nobility in Essos. Two of them had lived long enough to birth children. Calla, Daemon's favourite, and Allora, Daemon's youngest. Daena Rogare had told them a lot about her childhood, about a father who only very late in his life found time for his own family, who loved them nevertheless, only not as much as he had loved Daemon. About a mother who had violently cut herself off from her own bloodline to keep her daughter safe from the leering grasps of her brothers and nephews.

Calla and Aegor had had an unusual marriage but they had respected each other and been happy nonetheless, had always agreed on that their precious daughter would not fall into the hands of any of Daemon's sons or grandsons. And later in life, Calla had even made her husband realize that he needed to stop pushing for Westeros and the Iron Throne, that Daemon was long gone and would never return to a brother who missed him so much, even if a son of his sat the throne.

Calla's one surviving sister had seen it differently, and she had raised her children to strive for the hidden gem, to strive for what her brothers and nephews had never achieved. Lord Varys was one of those children, even if he pretended to be some poor little orphan who had worked his way to the top, when in truth he had been born in a grand mansion in Tyrosh, and it was his own nephew they were working on presenting as a miraculously saved Prince Aegon now.

When those news had been spoken from Lady Daena's letters Arthur had only not blown up because Jon had exploded plenty for enough people.

“How do you know that?” Jaime drew Arthur's head back to the present and it was once again Jace who spoke up, despite never knowing Rhaegar's first two children it must have still been a blow when he had learned it. Had learned that someone wanted to employ the same sellswords and friends he had so long worked alongside of to invade Westeros and kill thousands.

“I was a Company Captain, Jaime, and the black dragons have always held tight connections to them. Only this time the Company is doing _all_ it can to stop the Blackfyres from reaching for Westeros.” Jace explained and Jaime looked understandably shocked.

“Led by whom?”

“Led by the silent influence of Bittersteel's daughter, her grandson and a priceless possession.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it. I rewrote some of these scenes a couple of times before I was content, hence the long wait again, life and work also got in between again.
> 
> Now, we're actually gonna get to see actual tourney things in the next two chapters.
> 
> Who'll get that crown of summer roses?


	5. Torrhen Sand, Out of the Shadows of Legends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May this let you escape from the craziness of the world for at least a little while!
> 
> Even though, as I had announced on Twitter, there will be a death at the end of this chapter. Also some flashbacks in this Torrhen centric chapter.
> 
> Have fun and enjoy!

On the day after the many dramatic events that had followed the meeting with Robert, Arthur was quick to note that despite talking it out with Jon and seemingly having amused himself greatly during the feast, Torrhen skipped out of camp the first chance he got anyway. Jon told him to check the official trainings yard if he wanted to seek out Torrhen and then skipped off himself, Arya on the hand and Tyene walking on his other side, headed straight for the Velaryon banners.

“You gonna talk to him?” Aurane wanted to know when they were alone with two wolves who looked entirely too lazy to move away from the shadow of their tent entrance. “Because I'm gonna see how Jace is doing and I think that might go over better if you're not around.”

“You know that what he is trying to achieve is something he cannot have, right?” Arthur asked his better half right back and Aurane nodded, “neither from Ashara, nor from Torrhen.”

“I know, I still wanna see what's going on with him. Find you later on the trainings ground?” Aurane took a guess and Arthur nodded, he wanted a round with Jaime and take a look at the future training in one place for once. They shared a kiss and then he watched Aurane follow Jon's path and turned in another direction himself, gaining a companion after a good two minutes when black fur brushed up against his side.

“You know, I don't mean to be harsh to him,” he told the wolf trotting along at his side, “but he's stubborn, sometimes I need to get a little rougher so he'll even listen to me. Doesn't mean I don't love him,” he insisted and then reached the edge of the trainings yard. It was busy this time of day, knights and squires from all over the Seven Kingdoms working on their forms or sparring against each other. Arthur needed a moment to find his bullheaded nephew. He wasn't anywhere with the Dornish or the Crownlanders, the few Northerners present didn't have a violet eyed rascal among them either.

He ended up finding him where he should have been looking from the start of course, sitting crosslegged on a bench while the poor kid calling himself Barristan Selmy's squire was sweating in a nervous breakdown in front of him. Arthur had been meaning to ask Benjen or Ned if Brandon Stark had ever found this kind of pleasure in pointing out weaknesses in other people, straight into their faces. Richard had been like that as a boy, preferably with the Kingsguard squires, preferably with the admittedly usually incapable Reacher boys that Gerold had ended up being saddled with.

Barristan himself was present now as well, talking to some Knights with Reacher crests on their armor, eyes flickering over to his squire and Torrhen from time to time, probably wondering if he should intervene. Arthur didn't approach the boys right away but despite trying so hard not to all his life, he was unfortunately someone who got noticed and he knew Torrhen had seen him, even if the boy refused to look at him. No, Arthur chose to approach Barristan first, waiting until the to him unknown knights had walked away before stepping to his side.

“How is he doing?” He wanted to know and Barristan of course understood him right away, glancing to Torrhen briefly before sighing.

“He is torn up about something. Add to that being still shaken from yesterday, he's wildly thrown out of his own comfort zone,” Barristan gave his impression but before Arthur could ask him, he also continued with, “he doesn't want to talk to me about it. Maybe you'll have more luck.”

“I'm not sure we're exactly standing on stable ground right now,” Arthur confessed without feeling too awful about it, he knew very well that boys rebelled when they grew up. It always happened, in some to a lesser degree than in others but he had long before journeying to Storm's End noted that Torrhen was occasionally trying to go against clear orders.

It was worse with Ashara as the clear parent in that situation.

Arthur couldn't _wait_ for the day Jon slipped into that phase, too.

“I think you're exactly who he needs right now, Arthur.” Barristan told him softly and Arthur blinked at him because that wasn't what he had been expecting. He was rather convinced that he was the last one his nephew wanted to see at the moment in a combination of what had transpired yesterday and getting swept up into Richard's drinking games later on.

“What makes you say that?” He wondered out loud and watched in the distance how Vaemon and Willas Tyrell appeared on the sparring yard, deep in conversation, Jon and Lysaro talking behind them, Arya spinning around a dagger between them that Arthur guessed she must have either nicked from Lysaro or been given to look at.

“You're a father, boy, figure it out.” Barristan laughed, slapped him on the shoulder and then walked over to Torrhen and his squire. Arthur watched how Barristan briefly leaned down to quietly say something to Torrhen who nodded, shoulders dropping, but Barristan smiled and shushed his squire away.

Well, here went nothing, Arthur decided, the difficult conversations would have started some day anyway.

He took a deep breath and then walked over to his nephew, “you wanna walk a little first?” He offered up and Torrhen looked up, the tiredness in his vibrant eyes sent a stab right into Arthur's heart.

“Yeah, I would love to walk a little.”

And they did just that.

They walked deep into the forest until the sounds of the tourney grounds were swallowed up by nature, Shadow a silent companion who truly became what he had been named for. On the lookout so they could let their guards down, and Arthur knew more than ever before that he needed to make the first step. Because something was bothering Torrhen greatly, something was crawling up his walls, leaving scratch marks behind every time he pushed it down again, and it was wearing him down.

It was something that Jon couldn't help him with for once, otherwise the problem would have puffed away already. The boys were private where it concerned a great many things, they entrusted a lot only to each other, and only later some people got their confidence as well. Arthur still had the feeling that Aurane and him knew about Tyene and that first kiss from Jon because he had stumbled over that revelation on accident, Torrhen certainly didn't know for sure that it had been Tyene. And on the other hand, Arthur knew what Torrhen had been up to already with girls, but if Jon's face at times was any indication he knew a lot more, even if he rather didn't.

But whatever was being cooked up within Torrhen now, it went beyond what Jon was capable of understanding, and considering that Torrhen wasn't willing to talk to Barristan either, Arthur had a very good guess.

So, in he went.

“You know, I was a couple of moons younger than you are now when your grandfather died,” Arthur began, hoping his voice was able to hold up that casual conversation tone. Torrhen's shoulders tensed but he kept walking, eyes set stubbornly onto the ground. “It was rough. I was nowhere near old enough to go on without him. I had basically been living in King's Landing for years by then already but I had always known that if I only went back, my father would be there, that I could write to him any day. His advice had always been there, and suddenly he was gone. I would have crashed if it hadn't been for Andric, Rhaegar and my friends, and once the initial pain had lessened a little, I had people I could turn to. People who had known my father, people who had advice when I needed it without them ever pushing to become someone I didn't want to replace.”

“Who helped you?” Torrhen wanted to know, still not looking at him but at least he was talking unprompted and even acknowledging what they were talking about.

“Ser Gerold, Ser Harlan, Elion, Mikkel, Lucerys and gods be damned me saying it, but even Aerys,” Arthur confessed and Torrhen glanced over to him finally, one eyebrow raised. “I know. It sounds a little mad but this was two years before Duskendale, he had been... difficult at times already but he hadn't been out of control yet. And he preferred me over Rhaegar any day, and this is the first time I'm admitting it out loud, so count something on it.” Arthur emphasized and Torrhen nodded, attention on him for good now.

“You didn't mention Uncle Leano?”

“No, I didn't.” Arthur agreed with the question and flicked a branch out of his way, “because he never strove to take a position he wasn't meant for. He was my mentor, he taught me everything I ever wanted to know about being a great knight, mostly by living by example. He was uncle, arguably the only one I could truly confide in when I realized that I liked boys more than girls. Laeno was my guide, but he never tried to father me and I never wanted him to.”

“Is that...” Torrhen quickly began and then suddenly stopped, not just in words but also in his steps, Arthur stopped as well, patiently waiting his nephew out. His nephew who wasn't a little boy anymore, who was a young man now, half a year off from coming off age. Andric and him had already talked and half planned the knighting ceremony once they were back in Starfall. Torrhen took a deep breath and looked at him, eye to eye now, “is that the reason why you never tried to be father to me either?”

The question crashed against him in such a matter that Arthur was unable to react for a split second, completely unprepared, having expected something so very different.

One second was too long for Torrhen who started to turn away so Arthur lunged for him, grabbed his shoulders, turned him back around and held him there.

“I don't ever for a second want you to think that you ever meant any less to me than Jon!” Arthur almost stumbled over his words so fast he needed to get them out. “Never, you hear me? Just because he's my son and you're my nephew doesn't mean that there is _any_ difference between you two. I saw you grow up to...”

“But you never tried to be my father,” Torrhen interrupted him and his look became feverish almost, Arthur couldn't understand why he had waited so long to ask this question, after **all** these years, “you've always been my uncle. You've always been there, I've looked up to you my entire life. You taught me what it means to be a good knight, how to protect someone without sacrificing all of yourself. I learned from you what it meant to be a big brother without stopping to be someone on my own as well. You've always, always been there, good, bad. So, why, uncle, why couldn't I ever see a father in you?”

Ah.

There was the real problem.

That little change in the question.

No more hidden agenda.

The confession was out.

And something in Torrhen just became unleashed, “Why could I never choose you? Or Uncle Andric, Uncle Benjen? I can barely remember a time anymore without them around, and they all found something they could teach me still. Benjen knew my Pa better than Ma ever did, and I still... I have enough uncles to fucking _drown in_. Ma is doing her best and she always has, and I don't ever want her to think that I was lacking something because I never was. I had you!” Torrhen's voice was trembling and he was shaking under Arthur's hands so he didn't dare lose hold of him. “I always thought I was content with how things were. If I had a question or needed advice, there was always someone there to go to, I didn't need to call one of them father, didn't even need to think it. But then Jace comes back,” he hissed the name and Arthur hoped that Aurane would get through to his brother, Jace needed to back off before this got ugly.

Before the only one who got out the real loser in this would be Rhaena.

“And he's not even trying to be subtle about it. I'm happy he wants to be a part of Rhaena's life and she deserves to know her father. He's still alive, she can get to know him. But does _he_ deserve it?” That was a very difficult question and Arthur was not going to answer that, as much as he had his own problems with where Jace had been all these years and what he had been doing, Jace was also Aurane's brother, Corlyn's brother, Rhaena's father, Lucerys' son. There were people here among their family who had needed him back. “His solution to problems was to run away! He ran away and when he heard about the Rebellion... when he heard about how his friends were in danger, how his family was in danger, he still didn't come back! He staid in Essos! He abandoned all of you to your fates when he could have helped!”

“Torre, I know you are a hard believer in the changes that one single man or woman can do to a situation but Jace wouldn't have let us win the war,” Arthur treated carefully but didn't want to swallow his words either. “Jace is a good warrior, he even became a good soldier but he wouldn't have won the war for us.”

“But he should have returned either way,” Torrhen snarled out and then ripped himself out of Arthur's hold, starting to pace, “he should have come back to be there for his family! Instead he gets paid to go into battle! He took money to fight, uncle! I don't ever want him to be in any delusions that I want _him_ to be my father.”

“Listen, Torre, if Jace really gets on your nerves that much, I will personally talk to him and tell him to keep away, make him understand that...”

“No,” Torrhen snapped out, pulling up his hands and dragging them through his hair, it had gotten so ridiculously long that Rhaena had already tried to sneak up on her brother with scissors. Needless to say no one had closed their eyes anymore that night of rest shortly before they had reached Summerhall. “Jace isn't the problem,” Torrhen gritted out between his teeth and his frustration could be seen basically, touched upon with bare hands. “You're not the problem. And Andric, Benjen, all of them, they're not the problem. And it's not Ma, or Rhaena or Jon. It's me. **I'm** the problem.”

And Arthur had enough.

Three steps and he had placed himself in Torrhen's path, dug his heels in and then stopped his nephew with a strong grip on each shoulder.

“Stop.” The verbal barrier came as well and Torrhen looked at him again, trembling from head to feet with energy that couldn't get anywhere, his breaths were coming way too fast and his eyes were panic wide. “Breathe, Torrhen. For just a moment, just breathe.” They should have intervened much sooner instead of just letting Torrhen spiral this far out of it. “Okay, now listen to me. Whatever is going on, whatever is happening, you are not the problem.”

And the memory those words conjured up came unexpected as well.

_The armguard sailed through the air and crashed full force against the lined up silver cups that had been freshly polished by a chambermaid and returned to the council room in the White Sword Tower. Two squires froze on the spot where they had been returning sharpened knives and then quickly scurried away when the man leaning on a crutch in the doorway waved them off rather hurriedly._

“_You need to take a breath, son.”_

“_I don't need to take a breath!” Arthur snarled out and sent another piece of his armor flying into the room, this one landed on the round table in the middle and spun in lazy circles. “I don't need to take a moment. I don't need to sleep on anything. Or eat something. Or let wine bring me any revelations.” In the doorway Gerold took a deep breath himself and then slowly walked into the room, limping to a chair and then sitting down with a heavy sigh. “All I need to do is find a solution,” the white cloak got rather violently taken off heaving shoulders and then dropped onto a chair. “I need to figure this out before any more people get hurt.”_

“_Arthur, I appreciate the dedication but you do not have to do this alone.” Gerold's voice did little to appease Arthur's frustration, he kept on pacing up and down the left side of the table._

“_I am alone in this, if anyone hasn't noticed that by now they're blind. The people in the Kingswood barely trust me, I cannot help them, cannot stop this...” Noises of anger and more frustration slipped past his gritted teeth before Arthur stopped, slammed his hands down upon the table top and looked over to Gerold. “I can't help them. I can't do this. I'm the problem!”_

“_You are NOT the problem.” Gerold's voice thundered from the walls in an immediately response and Arthur jumped, “whatever the hells is happening between that godsdamned brotherhood and the smallfolk, is **not** your problem alone and least of all are **you** the problem on why **we **cannot get a handle on it.”_

“_You told Aerys to make me Lord Commander until you recovered because you believed I could solve this, which was obviously a mistake.” Arthur argued vehemently and then snapped straight when Gerold slapped his stick against the table._

“_You are the Lord Commander, right now, Arthur, but you still do not get to tell me that my decision to put you there was a mistake.” Gerold made it clear where he stood and Arthur felt a head smaller again. “You are not the problem and I will never hear you say those words again. You are already pushing yourself down hard enough as it is. Rhaegar and you are in a very stupendous competition right now to put more blame on your shoulders than you can already carry, and it needs to stop. I told His Grace to put the title of Lord Commander of the Kingsguard onto your head for the time being because you are the only one I trust to make the right decisions!”_

“_But Barristan and Harlan...”_

“_Harlan is old, boy, he can barely perform guard duty as it is. We cannot have a Lord Commander who on most days cannot leave this tower. I didn't pick Barristan because I do not appreciate how distracted he has gotten since the arrival of...” Gerold stopped when Arthur sent him a warning look, “fact of the matter is that you were my first choice anyway. Lewyn is too rash, Oswell excells in alienating people and Jonothor is too stoic. And I don't regret my choice, Arthur.”_

“_You should.”_

“_No, I shouldn't. You will figure this out, and then you will let all of us help solve this mess.” Gerold's calm finally broke through the barriers Arthur had put up around himself all day long already and he sank into a chair with a shaky sigh falling from his lips.”Arthur, what is the one thing you haven't tried yet?”_

“_I've tried **everything**...”_

“_Did you go as yourself?”_

“_What?”_

“_Did you go as Arthur yet?” Gerold wanted to know and Arthur didn't understand anything, “Ser Arthur Dayne of the Kingsguard tried all means. Lord Commander Arthur Dayne of the Kingsguard returned today after two days more frustrated than I've seen you in years. But who hasn't been to the smallfolk yet?”_

“_Simple Arthur Dayne of Starfall,” a new voice spoke from the doorway and Arthur snapped his head around to stare at Rhaegar leaning against the door. “I apologize for the intrusion but the yelling had me curious. What Ser Gerold means is that you didn't go as yourself, by yourself. Which frankly is a horrifying thought for me and I surely won't sleep well until you return or at least write but you should do it.”_

“_Go as myself? No white cloak? No men? Just me?” Arthur wanted confirmed and Gerold nodded just as much as Rhaegar. “That is never gonna work.”_

“_Arthur, they love you. Leave the fancier armor here, take one of my cloaks and then just wait and listen.” Rhaegar said and then let his face suddenly harden, “and the second you find out anything about where the Brotherhood has their hidings, you write and then **wait**. If I hear a single word about you taking them on alone, you can be dead sure you're never going to do anything but guard the nursery ever again.”_

“_Fine.”_

“You are never the problem,” Arthur repeated out loud and then moved his hands to frame Torrhen's face, “we're gonna figure this out, I promise you. But you are not the problem.” And in a continuation of unexpected events, Torrhen suddenly began crying and pushed out of Arthur's hands but only to bury his face against Arthur's shoulders who didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around his nephew, quite a little bit shocked. Torrhen hadn't cried in front of him in a very long time.

“I don't know what to do, uncle,” he sobbed out and Arthur held him tighter, “I don't know what to do. I felt so guilty when I pushed Jon to agree to have you let Barristan in on the secret but I just couldn't do it anymore.” A few tears turned into a full blown meltdown but Arthur just held onto him and let him talk. “I never wanted a father, I never did. I was always terrified it would make me forget the man I wasn't even allowed to meet. Brandon died never knowing I even _existed_, I just couldn't let anything get in between me and the things about him I was clinging to.”

“He's always gonna be your father, Torrhen, no matter if you look to someone else as well.”

“I know, I know. But it's hard, and I wanted so badly for Ma to be happy and I am so so glad that Barristan and her are letting themselves have this little thing, as small and hidden as it has to be.” Torrhen was still crying and he was clinging onto Arthur so tight now that it almost hurt but Arthur only rubbed soothingly over his nephew's back, “I just didn't... I never expected that Barristan...”

“You never expected that he filled a role for you, too. Not only did you suddenly want a father to be in reach after all,” Arthur spoke when Torrhen got too choked up, “but you wanted him be that man.”

“Yes,” Torrhen cried out, and he was so tired and why hadn't Jon said anything, by the stars, he must have noticed _something_. “I want him to fill those shoes and I've been trying to figure out for two years now how to say it. How to tell him that he can have a love without giving up the white cloak and that he can have a son as well. And then it just... comes out in a fucking argument with Jace, that isn't how I wanted to tell him.”

“And you think the _how_ mattered more than the what?”

The question had Torrhen break away from Arthur and stumble a step or two over uneven ground as he spun around to face the man who must have approached them on silent feet by full intention. And of course Shadow hadn't given notice either, not with him.

“It mattered to me,” Torrhen choked out and took one, then two, then three steps towards Barristan who didn't stop looking at him, and only him. Nothing else but Torrhen mattered in that moment and Arthur guessed that Barristan had made his decision a long time before Torrhen had made his, he had just not believed it to be possible.

“It didn't matter to me, son.” Barristan said and then Torrhen was falling against him and crying all over again, Barristan wrapped him into a hug and looked over to Arthur. “You've been gone so long, everyone got a little worried.”

“It's okay. I think you got here at exactly the right moment. I'm gonna head back now, give you two a moment.”

\--

“I'm sorry.”

“There is nothing to apologize for,” Barristan tried to soothe Torrhen who was still more upset and unraveled than he had experienced him so far. Even yesterday, in the aftermath of the knockdown at Jon's hands and the blow-up against Jace, Torrhen had been upset and agitated but he hadn't fallen apart like this. And maybe Barristan should have had pushed at him then, instead he thought that letting Torrhen calm down again before talking with him about this important little thing would be the better option.

Regret never tasted good.

He rubbed over Torrhen's back again, held on while this boy who was no longer a boy really cried against his shoulder. A son, a long time ago when he had been offered the white, Barristan had been young, hadn't wanted to ever settle down and had believed that children were just too much of a burden. He had wanted to be a knight, he had wanted to fight and protect people, a family would have only been in the way for all of that.

He had never felt a single bit of remorse over that decision, not when his family turned his back on him, not when children were born around him, not when he saw boys like Rhaegar and Arthur basically grow up around himself every day. No, there was never any regret, not until Ashara came to court.

He had loved her, maybe not straight from the beginning but rather soon, just as quickly realizing of course that he could never have it be more than a dream. Ashara had been meant for someone who could give her everything, not just something secretive and forbidden. The Rebellion had changed everything again of course, and Barristan had known for the first time what regret really felt like and how bad it could truly taste.

If only...

His most loyal companion throughout the five years he had believed Ashara to have died.

Then of course she had returned to him and brought along two children who had stolen their ways into Barristan's heart quicker than their mother once even had. He had loved Torrhen and Rhaena from the first second he had met them, and both of them had grown into such remarkable young people.

Little Rhaena who was so much like her mother, beautiful and smart and always aware of her surroundings and the thoughts of people. She charmed with a smile and plotted with a quick mind, bastardborn or not, this little girl would make it far because she knew how to get herself there. Contrary to her mother though, Rhaena kept her real thoughts and feelings close to her heart most of the time, Ashara had never been shy to speak her mind, even among strangers or the uptight crowd in the Red Keep. If people had deemed her Dornish in a bad way, Ashara had only played more into it because it had been fun for her to play with people's expectations. She hadn't cared about what strangers thought about her as long as her family and friends saw the truth. Rhaena kept herself more guarded but Barristan could see what those sharp eyes were thinking. She had the bearings of a Princess, like Elia, like Lady Rhae.

And Torrhen, ever since knowing the truth about Jaehaerys Targaryen, Torrhen's loyalty and protectiveness didn't seem so unusual anymore. He was still reckless and loud and rather quick to judge, maybe even too quick sometimes, but he had also leveled out, Arthur had made a good job of keeping the boy's feet on the ground despite the great skills and incredible talent. As much as they were wonderchildren of their generation though, the similiarities stopped about there with Arthur and Torrhen, maybe excluding the protectiveness over their family and loved ones. Torrhen was rash and all or nothing, he didn't want to see the middle ground, he went for the extremes. His loyalty to Jon was something that Barristan had seen before, of course he had, Ser Duncan and King Aegon, Arthur and Rhaegar.

But as much as Arthur was maybe privately hoping that Torrhen would calm down even more and become another Aemon the Dragonknight, Barristan saw it all a little differently. Torrhen was good as he was, a future Kingsguard as Torrhen had seen himself long before anyone else would have even dared of thinking along those lines, he was made to become another Aegor Rivers. As terrible as many things had been that Bittersteel had put Westeros and its people under, his steadfast loyalty to Daemon Blackfyre and his line, his unlimited support and encouragement for his half-brother, his dedication and strive for perfection, those had been good traits, just directed at the wrong side.

Jon and Torrhen, that was a combination that nothing could stop. Barristan had once already thought a similar line about Rhaegar and Arthur, a combination that could only be stopped by the doubt within themselves. Rhaegar and Arthur had worked well together, had trusted each other blindly, relied on each other blindly, had always had each other's backs, protected each other almost to the very end but they also had one thing too much in common. Crippling doubt in themselves. Arthur's tendency to lock himself into himself and Rhaegar's brooding, coupled together and they struggled to get each other out of it again.

Jon and Torrhen wouldn't face that issue. Torrhen kept Arthur's boy from withdrawing too much. Jon had no trouble in keeping Torrhen's feet stable on the ground. Torrhen was a man of extremes, Jon was the middle ground. Barristan wouldn't need to spend much time with Rhaegar's son to see that. And Arthur's stories only painted the same picture, Torrhen kept Jon going, Jon kept Torrhen from going too far.

Gods, he was so proud of these kids.

And yesterday, that moment where Torrhen had called him father into the face of his sister's own father, who was younger, quicker, more adventurous. Barristan had no issues with feeling inferior compared to Jacaerys Velaryon, but he couldn't help the waves of pride and amazement that nevertheless rolled up within him every single time he thought back to Torrhen's words.

“You've never made me anything but proud, you know,” he said when Torrhen's sobs had quietened down but the boy made no move to let go of him yet. He didn't want to imagine under what stress Torrhen had put himself, own thoughts driving him crazy, wanting to protect his family in these times, Rhaena and Jon the most. “From the very first time we were sparring outside the Inn in the Kingswood village. I always saw a great future ahead of you, and I knew that I would be the happiest if I could be a part of it in even the smallest way.”

Torrhen pulled away then, wiped a hand rather roughly over his face and took some stabilizing breaths before he looked at him again. “I wanted more than just the smallest way. Right from the moment where we rode away and left you behind in that village, I couldn't stop thinking about how unfair it was. And at some point, no matter how much I love them, at some point the letters just weren't enough anymore either.”

“So, why didn't you say something?” Barristan wanted to know and Torrhen kept himself from paying but began to wring his hands, a nervous gesture that his mother had as well when really upset. “Torre, I understand that it's a big...”

“I never wanted you to believe that we were a choice.” Torrhen blurted out and he dragged both hands through his hair, “because we aren't. It's not whitecloak or us, I want you to have both. All these people, telling me that I made my choice too fast, that I don't even know what I'm giving up,” Torrhen opened up and though Barristan understood what he meant he still wondered who might fall under 'these people'. He knew that forcing young men into the Kingsguard was cruel in a way, they usually truly didn't know what awaited them and what they were giving up.

Barristan himself had learned that too late, and he might not regret his choices because it had been his choice and his alone but sometimes he had wanted both, had wanted the impossible. Arthur, Jaime, even Oswell, neither of them had really been given a choice, especially concerning their young age when taking up the white. Torrhen on the other hand, Barristan was quite sure that the boy knew what he was facing, quite contrary for example to what his uncle had been thrown into.

_Barristan knocked on the half open door and waited until his Lord Commander looked up to wave him inside, then Gerold went right back to staring down at a letter on his desk, one hand tapping away on the tabletop. Barristan closed the door behind himself and stepped into Gerold's quarters with about the same mood that his Lord Commander was already showing._

“_Why?” He wanted to know and Gerold looked up to him and then waved his free hand towards the chair in front of the desk. “Do you have any idea why he is doing this?”_

“_He didn't ask the Dornish for the boy,” Gerold began but his voice already made it sound like an excuse, “he asked for another Knight to join the Kingsguard.”_

“_Gerold,” Barristan deadpanned as he sank down on the chair he had been offered, looking over to Gerold with what he hoped to be a look that asked for no nonsense answers. “We both very much know that Aerys was expecting only the boy. The Martells wouldn't have send their son and you know you wouldn't have wanted the younger Prince anyway. Lewyn's stories already told of too much trouble. Wasn't it obvious it would end up being him?”_

“_I had hoped not,” Gerold confessed to him and dragged a hand over his face, he looked utterly exhausted, “you heard anything new about how the boy is doing?”_

“_Oswell says that he is doing better. Rhaegar wants to leave for Dragonstone again.” Barristan reported what Oswell had told him earlier, after having thrown a double shift the younger man was finally able to sleep now, hopefully something that Arthur was doing now as well. “This isn't gonna end well. The boy is too young.”_

“_Oswell wasn't so much older. I'm more concerned with him not even having gotten a choice,” Gerold pointed out and he even got to his feet, a clear sign that he was upset. It surprised Barristan a little, Gerold's sometimes narrowminded prejudices against the Dornish set him up against Lewyn on a regular basis but Arthur Dayne had never hit the same buttons within the Lord Commander. He didn't know what or even if there was something that Gerold was seeing in the boy, or had been seeing in this kid who had charmed everyone at court with shyness._

_He had grown up now, inseparable with the Crown Prince, more skilled and dangerous with any weapon than ever, and more reserved than ever as well. Arthur wasn't shy anymore but he was quiet. Barristan knew that Gerold had watched that development with the same concern. “No choice,” Gerold went on and Barristan followed him around with his eyes as the older man began to pace. “Taking the white should never be an order, it should be a choice. We're not at the Wall, this cloak isn't a punishment. It's supposed to be an honor.”_

“_You think Arthur is gonna see it as a punishment?”_

“_I think Arthur is gonna see it as an honor he can never live up to.” Gerold brought Barristan's own thoughts once more into words. “I think that this might just as well bury him alive. Sooner rather than later. His loyalty and dedication to Rhaegar is admirable and I applaud that both of them have found such a strong friendship with each other in these troubling times but I would have already argued against making Arthur a sworn sword for the Prince. Arthur is too easy willing to give everything and all to protect people. And I've seen that before, and I've also seen how that played out in the end.”_

“_You mean the Norridge boy?”_

“_An exceptional talent, a good kind heart, a humble nature. A strong devotion and loyalty to a Targaryen Prince. Jeremy Norridge became Prince Daeron's sworn sword and then he died defending him not three years later, right alongside his Prince.” Gerold reminded them both of what had happened in the little rebellion that the Rat, the Hawk and the Pig had tried to throw. A won victory but at painful costs. “Arthus is an incredible swordsman, he was a wonderchild and he remains a wonder now. But he's not invincible and the Prince he is loyal to is the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. I want to put this cloak on him, Barristan, I do, because he deserves it, deserves the honor, the pride and the admiration it brings but I can't bury my brothers long before their time.”_

“_He could do so much good in white,” Barristan reasoned because he saw how torn up Gerold was, the King had gone over his head in his demand written to Dorne. He should have talked to Gerold first and maybe let Gerold give him some recommendations, Arthur would have surely been among them, but only after Gerold would have prepared the boy for it. Now the kid had been overrun by the news, Lord Dayne was pissed off at everyone who had even the smallest thing to do with this calling, Prince Rhaegar was worried sick about his friend and the only one happy was Aerys._

_Because he knew that by demanding the Dornish to send one of their best warriors for a position in the Kingsguard, he would get his Arthur Dayne._

_Who was too young. Who was too kind. Who was too good._

“_He could,” Gerold agreed with him and sat down behind his desk again, “he could also break under it but what choice do I have. Aerys loves the boy more than his own sons, every argument I could come up with won't be heard. He wants Arthur Dayne in white.”_

“_So we make sure that he won't break,” Barristan decided and met Gerold's eyes again, “make sure he knows he's not alone. That he can trust us like he trusts Rhaegar. We need to hold together at the moment, and I actually think that Arthur Dayne in a white cloak is exactly what we... what the Crown needs right now.”_

“_I'll talk to the King in the morning.”_

Arthur had had no choice but Torrhen had had all the choices and still only picked one path. He had thought this through, maybe for the first time in his life but he had really thought something through for once.

“I don't see a choice in it,” Torrhen went on and he looked so determined, there was no budging anymore in the choices he had made for his future, he had been ready before Jon had. “I want to be with Jon, I want to protect him because I can do it like no one else can. I don't see children in my own future, or a wife, it just doesn't feel like that is something for me. And it has nothing to do with being a bastard, it's just not me. That sword, that white cloak, that armor. Protecting my brother. That's me, and that's who I wanna be.”

“Things might change, Torre. I once...”

“But you have both now, don't you? A white cloak and a family,” Torrhen said it so matter of fact that Barristan felt his legs grow weak a little. “So why should I worry about my future when all options are still there? I know that what I am doing is the right thing, Barristan, because it's not the easy path.” Torrhen smirked a little, visibly content that he had used Barristan's own words against him.

“Okay,” Barristan responded to the passion in his boy's voice and nodded, Torrhen bit his lip and looked at him. Arthur hadn't died aged 23 liked Jeremy Norridge had for his prince, Torrhen wouldn't either, and if Barristan had to throw himself in front of a blade to achieve that, he would gladly do it for his son. “Never thought I would hear myself saying I have a son, let alone that he'll follow in my footsteps.” Torrhen laughed and launched forward again, this time with his bigger height and his broader shoulders it was him who took Barristan into a hug but Barristan didn't care.

“There is just one more thing,” Torrhen mentioned when they broke apart again and made to return to the tourney grounds, Barristan hoped that Ashara hadn't worn down her nails in worry by now. “We both know there will be a war. Robert won't react well to Jaehaerys Targaryen. So... please don't make me fight you. Please don't make Uncle Arthur fight you.”

“I won't fight against your side, I promise.”

He had turned from dragons to stags because that was the moment he hadn't been given a choice. It seemed like every brother in white experienced that at one point. But this right now, turning back to serving dragons, even if for now in secret, it wasn't another no choice moment. The right path wasn't always easy, that still held true, Torrhen was right, but for once, Barristan thought as he joined Torrhen in walking back out of the forest, nothing had been ever been easier than setting a foot upon this right path.

A path that led back to dragons.

\--

“You're gonna grow roots if you keep staring any longer.” Jon deadpanned and then took in in much amusement how Benjen jumped and even Oberyn flinched before they both turned around to face him. “And it's not exactly polite either, even if the object of your fascination is an asshole.”

“Who's not being polite now,” Benjen grouched and swept Arya into a hug when she flung herself at him after she had slipped down from where Jon had carried her piggyback style, “you're talking treason, nephew.”

“It's not treason,” Jon calmly pointed out and gladly took the spot on the bench between his uncles when Oberyn made some room for him. “It's just an insult. If that isn't allowed anymore, these kingdoms would be far emptier,” he mentioned and Oberyn snorted, Benjen only rolled his eyes and placed Arya on his lap, she was once again only interested in the dagger that Lysaro had given her. Jon was only glad that Robb had showed her by now how to handle one. “And he is hardly my King anyway.”

“Are we allowed to talk about that now then,” Oberyn wanted to know and Jon shrugged his shoulders, it was not really a secret anymore what he had chosen, even if they hadn't talked about it openly by now. Mostly because a tourney ground wasn't the best place to start a Rebellion, Jon had learned that lesson from Rhaegar. “I must say though, and I hate doing it. This tourney has all the makings of becoming another Harrenhall.”

“Don't say that, Oberyn,” Benjen complained in a dejected tone and Jon looked between them, “the situation is different. There is no son trying to undermine his father and finding allies against him. And I doubt we have anyone who joined the lists who might crown the wrong woman.”

“Are you sure?” Oberyn held against it easily and his eyes swept back to where King Robert was talking with some people, surrounded by two Kingsguard and several household guards.

If this was him mingling among his people, he had entirely misunderstood what the word even meant.

“There is tension in the air, and yes, a lot of things have changed but the basis of it all hasn't. We have a paranoid King who lets his anger be the solution to anything. And maybe he isn't burning people alive,” Benjen flinched at those words and Jon kicked Oberyn's foot, “but he is hardly acting all rational anymore either. The relationship between Dorne and the Reach has not improved a bit, in truth it has even worsened once the roles were switched. They have the Queen now, not us. The only Reacher who don't flinch away from interacting with anyone from our camp are Ser Barristan who hasn't been a true Reacher in decades, and Willas and Garlan Tyrell. That's three people, Benjen.”

“Three not unimportant people. Willas and Garlan carry a huge part of the future of the Reach on their shoulders,” Benjen argued and Oberyn nodded to it, “but I see what you mean. The Westerlanders hardly interact with anyone. The Stormlanders are angry with the Crownlanders and vice versa. There is a lot of anger and frustration in the air and I certainly remember that from Harrenhall, even though I spent a lot of time ignoring it back then.”

“The King's son isn't planning something behind his back but there is another fraction who is doing it,” Oberyn nudged Jon who tried to smother his grin but then gave up, whatever, it was the truth now. “Aerys wanted to see Rhaegar humiliated. Robert wants to see Arthur humiliated, where is the difference in any of it?”

“Pa isn't married and isn't going to ride past the future Queen to crown a betrothed woman,” Jon drily pointed out to Oberyn and laughed when Oberyn grunted over the obviously otherwise meant direction his point had been going. “I get what you mean, if Pa wins, Robert is probably gonna try and make a scandal out of whomever he crowns no matter how alright the choice is.”

“Have Aurane and you figured it out yet?”

“We're still talking in circles.”

“I see,” Oberyn noted and grimaced when Robert's boisterous laugh echoed across the sparring yard over to where they were talking. It had gotten full this morning. In the Kingsguard corner, Torrhen was sparring with Ser Barristan, Jon was going to confront him later over what had been going on. Of course he had noted that something had been bothering Torrhen but every little approach had had Torrhen clam up so hard that Jon had preferred to back off instead of aggravating it any further. Jon's Pa was laughing and sparring with Ser Jaime, they had the most onlookers. Garlan was dueling with his little brother, Vaemon and Willas were talking close to them.

Every corner seemed to be filled with someone already sparring or preparing to. In the Dornish corner, Carrall and Richard were going at it, Edric watching either them or the other interesting pairing because Obara had finally talked Lysaro into a match.

“Do you really believe that this is gonna end in disaster like Harrenhall did as well?” Jon also questioned his uncles because it left a bad taste in his mouth. Harrenhall had destroyed so much, but also started so much. “Because trust me, I'm not gonna ride away from this tourney with secret plans to scurry away a girl. And Robert isn't gonna be able to piss off an enemy by offering their sons white cloaks either.”

“In that comparison, Tywin Lannister would be Corlyn,” Oberyn made the connection and looked over to where the oldest of the three brothers was walking the edge of the sparring yard with his father. Aurane and Jace hadn't turned up yet, Jon wondered if that conversation was going anywhere. “And no, you're right, Aethan is far too young and Vaemon is married. No heirs stolen away this time, unless you count the fact that Robert is plotting to lure Torrhen and you away from Dorne.”

“As if there is a lure that might work,” Jon let the sarcasm float out, “What is he gonna offer up? A white cloak for Torre? The only white cloak Torre wants is the one he has been carrying inside of himself since I was nine.” Jon knew he was giving them more pieces of what had been going on behind the scenes then they might have expected, pieces from behind the scenes behind the scenes they themselves had been plotting. Torrhen and Jon had always focused on the now, on learning, on seeing things and meeting people but they had never been ignorant at any point in time that one word of Jon would change both of their lives greatly. “And good luck to that man finding something that might take me away from Dorne, in his dreams maybe.”

Oberyn settled an arm around his shoulders, “good to hear, boy. And now, excuse me, I'm gonna channel my frustration into a good duel with a hidden gold cloak.” Jon groaned but still let Oberyn get up and pick up his spear.

“Don't piss off the Company men, Oberyn,” Jon still tried to reason with him though but Oberyn waved him off, probably hadn't even listened. “I'm just gonna tell Elion then.”

“Let him have his fun,” Benjen laughed and stood up as well, Arya swung onto his shoulders, “and we three are gonna find my brother now. I believe we have something to talk about with good old Ned.” Jon caught Arya's eyes and the excitement in them was contagious immediately, the bigger picture was out of his hands currently anyway but he could focus on the small ones.

Namely getting Arya out of Winterfell.

\--

Rhaena Sand sighed heavily when she spotted another group of girls that had collected itself on the edge of the sparring yard, their eyes set onto the dark haired youth training with Ser Barristan and one other Kingsguard.

The dark haired youth who was in truth her idiot doofus of a brother.

And those girls weren't even the only ones, there seemed to be an overabundance of girls older and younger than herself who suddenly seemed to find the sparring yard incredibly interesting since Torrhen had returned with Barristan from wherever Uncle Arthur had pulled him off to. She hoped that his visually improved mood was not just a mask but in fact better because she couldn't stand his snappishness and his brooding anymore. She understood fully well that her father was overstepping his line and she had told him often enough already that he could never be for Torrhen what he was for her, she had told him that Torrhen had chosen someone else but her father hadn't listened.

And they said Daynes were stubborn.

When she complained about her observations to her companions, it was Alyssa who snorted quite unladylike and drily pointed out “we're sitting here, too.”

“Because we have family here?” Rhaena held against it and they were in fact sitting among mostly family in the Dornish corner. Her father was here, her uncles were here, her cousins were here, her stupid brother was over there.

Alyssa could name down the same, Elia had her father and her sisters around and Sansa had uncles, none of them were here to oogle boys. Or at least not to giggle about them like mindless idiots. All of this farce and these fake smiles and highpitched voices fluttering on and on about how great her brother and all these other boys were, it was grinding on her nerves. And it kept Jon far away from the sparring yard on most days, he preferred to either walk the tourney grounds with Willas Tyrell, be all over the place with Arya or be sitting around and talking with one of the adults.

The only girls Jon let close these days were Arya and Tyene, and Rhaena knew very well that it was because Arya was his favourite cousin and Tyene was possibly his second bestest friend in the world.

“I don't know,” Alyssa picked the topic back up, “maybe that's your excuse. I like sitting here, watching boys. I just don't lose my mind over it and start fluttering my eyelashes,” she added with a sneer and glared at some of the girls circling around Margaery Tyrell and her cousins. How those Reacher girls could oogle Torrhen was a puzzle to Rhaena, shouldn't their precious idiotic upbringing not prevent them from even wanting to look at a bastard?

Those girls were exhausting.

“I second Alyssa, I do enjoy the view as well,” Elia agreed and Rhaena rolled her eyes, at least Sansa flushed but didn't say anything out loud. She wasn't shy to speak her mind but she was polite even without adults around and compared to Alyssa and Elia she was rather skittish as well. And she had only eyes for Domeric Bolton anyway. Rhaena understood it, if she were as good as betrothed to someone, she would probably not start eyeing up someone else as well.

And she herself wouldn't complain about the view either.

She just didn't like that ninety percent of girls around their age were so centered on wanting to jump her brother. Torrhen was an idiot, she could see nothing charming about him, he was handsome, of course he was, he was her brother, their mother's son, how could he not be handsome. But could he ever compare to others with more tact about them?

Like Lysaro Rogare who was basically a frigging Prince straight out of the story books without carrying an actual title. No matter how annoying his little sisters were in her opinion, he was charming, polite, funny and so so handsome. Once again, not a surprise. Lysaro and her shared one ancestor, it was in their bloodline, though admittedly Lysaro looked more like a Targaryen than Jon ever could, even with a dragon below his butt.

Rhaena had spent some time guessing already if Lysaro came more after his father's blood or his mother's ancestors. Was he more Prince Aerion or more Blackfyre?

Then there were the Dornish boys and though she knew a lot of them for a long time already, not all of them had developed into idiots like her brother. Like Perros Blackmont or the Dalt brothers or the two oldest Gargalen boys. Unfortunately, those boys fled when she so much as smiled at them, all in thanks to her idiotic big brother and his too well intended protection instincts.

She was never gonna be able to get close to anyone.

What Torrhen wouldn't chase away, her father's name alone would, or her uncles'. Or even Jon. His dragon. The wolves. _Her_ dragon. Sweet beautiful Sonara, waiting for her back in Starfall. Who needed a boy when you had a dragon.

“Hey, Rhae, there is that boy again who gave us the flowers yesterday,” Elia called her back out of her thoughts and Rhaena let her eyes follow the subtle nudge that her friend gave her towards the front of the sparring yard. Situated right next to the royal corner and the Reachers, Vale knights in their fancy armor were training and among them was the brunet boy from yesterday who had gifted some flowers to Elia and her as they had walked among the stands of the traders with Holden as a guard.

Holden, the sweetheart, had not only not said a word to her brother since but also not looked like murder when this stranger had approached them.

“That's him?” Alyssa wanted to know in surprise and Rhaena glanced over to her, her cousin was one of her closest friends and they got along so well because they thought alike. “I'm not really impressed, he looks a little... usual.” There was indeed nothing special about this boy, Rhaena saw it similar, mouse brown hair, dark eyes. He was tall and lean, but so was half her family. His face had nothing special about it but something still made him interesting to her.

Something kept her attention on him and she couldn't put her finger on it.

“Also,” Alyssa went on, without her brothers around and without her mother in the vicinity, she was a lot more blunt and honest about her thoughts. “If he trains with those knights, he is a squire from the Vale. And without stepping on anyone's toes, if he finds out who you are...”

“He's not gonna look twice at me, I know,” Rhaena finished that sentence flawlessly, it didn't hurt as much as it maybe had still two years ago. She knew she was different, not trueborn and until a good year ago she had been a girl without a father as far as Westeros was concerned, now people knew the truth.

And everyone seemed to have taken a collective step back in response.

But she wasn't a bastard truly either, not like Elia and her sisters or like Antony Gargalen's bastard daughters she had befriended at the Water Gardens. Torrhen and her, they liked to privately call themselves Ashara Dayne's Great Bastards, even if Jon had looked like he might just slap them silly with that term when he had overheard. Truth was, Rhaena and Torrhen hadn't been fathered by stable hands, hedge knights or merchants, their fathers had been or still were highborn.

A King's decree could easily switch their names to either become Dayne or take on the form of two other Houses with a long and incredible history.

Rhaena was a Sand but she knew that if she only wanted she could get herself a good match, become Jacaerys Velaryon's daughter in name as well and pick herself a secondborn son or even an heir within the Crownlands. At the same time she didn't pity Alyssa or Sansa their positions at all, only daughter and eldest daughter of powerful influential Lords as they were. Sansa's bethrothal had been pre-arranged to an heir from the North to not let her become a puppet of this game of thrones, people might not believe it but they were very much aware of it themselves.

And Alyssa, frail as her health could be at times, was much sought after, but so far Uncle Corlyn had put his foot down that it was too early. Rhaena and Alyssa were both aware though that with the way the families in the Crownlands with Valyrian ancestry were holding themselves up at the moment, they remained the only daughters.

And now, more than ever, it was important to keep their history and traditions alive, and the blood as well.

Rhaena might just have to push Jon a little now, convince him that Alyssa could be a good kind Queen, now where he had turned his attention towards following down that path for real. She would never let it happen that some pretentious harpy like Margaery Tyrell would become Queen, only to stab Jon in the back the second a son was born. No, Jon needed someone he could trust, he needed family without it really being too much family too close for comfort for him. Like Princess Daenerys would be.

Alyssa had Targaryen ancestry as well, and was Valyrian through and through.

“He's looking at you two,” Elia sing-songed just then and nudged her head over to the Vale corner once more, Rhaena glanced over and found this unknown boy really looking over Alyssa and her. _Good luck there_, she thought grimly, _want me to start counting already? _Thankfully though her brother seemed too preoccupied with the Kingsguard.

“Yeah,” Alyssa drawled just then and then huffed, “Vaemon clocked him, too.” Her deadpanned tone prompted all of them to look around where Alyssa's oldest brother was now talking with Lysaro Rogare again, razor sharp blue eyes set upon the Vale squire. Jon and Willas had somehow returned as well, or had just returned because Arya was still scurrying over the yard over to Uncle Arthur.

“Is it really normal for brothers to be that overprotective?” Sansa spoke up at last as well and Rhaena snorted in a first response. “Robb doesn't hover around Arya and me that much.”

“Robb got his own eyes on Alys and he knows that _Domeric_ has eyes on you anyway,” Rhaena explained lightly and nodded over to where said young knight to be was just then throwing another glance over to them and smiling at Sansa when he noticed them looking, too. “Also, you're a _Stark_. People would be rather welcoming to the Stranger if they dared to make advances or even 'abduct' another Stark girl nowadays.”

“Hilarious, Rhaena,” Elia grumbled but Rhaena shrugged, it was the truth, it was the simple truth. She wasn't so sure if it went for all Houses in this new age since the Rebellion because it definitely went for Stark girls. If someone were to take Sansa or Arya, hells if either of them decided to secretly run away like Jon's mother had, the North would probably go beserk, Dorne would rally in sympathy and the Kingsguard would be ordered to ride out.

And there was a very good chance they would all be overtaken by a dragon flying in from wherever Starfyre was growing and growing in Essos now. And that last line at least held up for any girl, for anyone really, who belonged in any way to Jon's extended family. If anything were to happen, Starfyre would come, he had told her so himself. Rhaena didn't doubt it, she had already experienced how loyal Sonara had become, how smart dragons were and how much they understood.

And Starfyre was older.

Bigger.

Jon and him had had even more time to create a bond.

This strange boy caught her eyes once more and smiled but Rhaena didn't give it back, even at only one and ten she knew very well that most boys only smiled at girls for one reason. And it certainly wasn't to brighten their day. Her own idiot brother was the best example for it.

“Well,” Alyssa picked the conversation up again, her eyes still glaring at her brother, “I don't thin that guy's handsome. I've seen mice with more interesting hair colors. And tall and lean?” Alyssa snorted and waved a hand around, “that's hardly something special.”

“So who would you pick?” Sansa wondered and Alyssa glanced over to her before her eyes settled on the one Rhaena had already known they would land on.

“Jon.”

That was all Alyssa said and Rhaena chuckled when Sansa scrunched up her nose while Elia smiled and cocked her head to the side. Truth was, Jon stuck out a little amongst the other boys his age. He surely wasn't the only one who was tall and lean, most Crownland boys had it in their veins as well, but Jon had something about himself that just made him different. His hair had calmed down, grown less wild and he kept it shorter now, letting it barely pass past his ears.

His eyes made him stand out anyway as purple eyes still did, but his were always sharp in their gaze as well, always thinking, always wondering and calculating. It gave him something mysterious, something to guess at and it certainly kept you curious on what was going on inside his head. Because, and Rhaena couldn't point it out enough, Jon actually had a brain behind his eyes.

Contrary to so many other boys his age.

Or older.

According to the grown ups in her family, he was beginning to come more after his father though his face still held some of his mother as well. Despite his coloring though, Jon was certainly more Valyrian than Northern by now. There was something graceful about him, and the way he moved, not so brute like like her brother,

Rhaena found it a little sad for the woman's memory that people seemed to see so little Lyanna Stark in her only child, whereas they found more and more resemblances to Jon's Targaryen ancestors in Jon, in character and appearance. It was probably a sad mercy that in King Robert's head Rhaegar Targaryen and Arthur Dayne had long since joined together into becoming one hated person, otherwise he might have just realized something after all.

Rhaena was sure that there was something in Jon that was all Lyanna Stark, they just hadn't seen it yet.

“You just wanna be Queen,” Elia noted in a deadpan to break the silence that had fallen over them and Alyssa rolled her eyes. “He's good looking but did you expect anything less? Look at who his father was, add some Nothern roughness and that mind of his. Once he announces his plans, they're gonna throw themselves at him.”

“They already do,” Rhaena mentioned casually and with her eyes somehow being drawn back towards the Vale boy, “Jon has just gotten very good at running the other way.”

“He's being careful,” Alyssa formulated it differently, “he can hardly act like Torrhen does. If Torrhen gets a bastard, no one would actually be that surprised.” No, they wouldn't, Rhaena privately agreed, it was truthfully a miracle that it hadn't happened yet. “If Jon has one... a King with a bastard, usually doesn't end well.”

“King Robert has bastards,” Sansa pointed out and Rhaena laughed, jumping down from the bench they had made theirs to brush out her skirts.

“King Robert has vastly more problems than his bastards, trust me, Sansa. And now, let's please go somewhere else where I don't have to watch my brother be oogled like meat.” Rhaena pleaded and Alyssa, Elia and Sansa rolled their eyes but nevertheless got up and joined her in walking back over to the mummers' tents.

Rhaena only noticed out of the corner of her eyes how the Vale boy watched her every step as they left.

\--

Over lunch some news broke.

And Arthur was just so done.

He was just so done with Robert, with the Small Council, with Westeros even.

So done.

“I need to find the boys.”

“Arthur...”

“Not now, Andric!”

\--

“Come with me.”

Jon and Torrhen exchanged a look in surprise but then hurried to sheath their swords and rushed after Arthur who led them into a secluded corner of the sparring yard before turning to face them, eyes serious. It sucked in more than one way because Jon had finally given in and accepted that he would only get over that incident the day before if he picked up a sword against Torrhen again and let Torrhen show him that now with the moods rightened again, Jon was gonna be the one ending up in the sand.

Again.

And again.

Losing was going to reassure Jon, winning was going to boost Torrhen's morale for the melee still.

“We're gonna have a talk about flower crowns now,” Arthur announced when they were off to the side enough that he could pretend to have privacy with the boys.

“About what?” Torrhen wanted to know and leaned forward, brows drawn together, even Jon looked too stunned about the topic to not guard his expression for once.

“Flower crowns, the price for winning,” Arthur clarified but the confusion on the boys' faces didn't improve at all, on the contrary, Torrhen looked even more puzzled.

“I'm not jousting...” he said, so very slowly and with a sideway glance over to Jon that just cried out for help because this wasn't making any sense. And Arthur knew this wasn't making any sense because the King had gone crazy.

“And I'm not jousting with the knights.” Jon added because quick mind or not, he couldn't get the meaning of it all, which just showed how utterly mad and ridiculous this all was.

“The King,” Arthur began the real explanation and right away Jon and Torrhen groaned, which almost made him laugh, “has decreed that all competitions will have a price of flower crowns.” Torrhen's mouth dropped open in a gape, Jon made a double take. “The joust declares the Queen of Love and Beauty as always, the melee and the squire rounds declare _Princesses_ of Love and Beauty.”

“Princesses of...” Torrhen stuttered out then stopped, frowned, made some kind of helpless noise before blurting out a “_**what**_...that has never been there before...”

No, it hadn't. Arthur was dead sure in that. He knew enough about the history of tourneys to know that once upon a time the squire rounds in the great tourneys had had price money as well but that had been ended somewhere around King Daeron II.

“Robert is trying to rile the Dornish up.” Jon realized quickly then, anger turning his features even sharper, frowning up at Arthur, “He is trying to rile _**you**_ up. Oberyn is right, Robert is trying to get his own version of Harrenhall.” Jon spit it out like the insult and nightmare that thought was, Arthur reached out and squeezed his shoulder. A white snout pushed against Jon's side and Arthur only then noticed that Ghost must have been lurking on the sideline somewhere, Shadow had after some trouble this morning been ordered by Torrhen to remain in his tent.

“I have no intention of showing him how this is pissing me off.” Arthur tried to reassure Jon but his son only kept on trembling in his anger. “What I need from you is the same. Right now, Ned is having the same conversation with Domeric and Robb and I know that Elion is talking to Quentyn and Anders.”

They needed to have all of them understood how difficult their situation had gotten now, how a simple decision could have lasting consequences. Flower crowns and this King didn't mix well. This was a test, this was one giant test and Arthur detested every single fucking thing about it.

“You don't want us to crown the wrong one if we win,” Jon concluded completely right and it was absolutely not him that Arthur was concerned about there in the first place. Jon of all people knew how delicate a flower crown had to handled and what horrors could follow it. To this day Arthur could still feel the shock that Rhaegar riding past Elia had given him.

“I'm not crowning anyone!” Torrhen called out just in that moment and looked at them like they had lost their minds, Arthur hadn't exactly expected it any differently. Torrhen was too rubbed raw still from everything that had transpired yesterday and this morning, and now he had a direwolf slightly out of control because he couldn't fully get himself to calm down on the inside still.

Torrhen needed that melee to get his system leveled out again.

Only now he had to deal with another complication.

“Torrhen...”

“This is crazy!” Torrhen went louder until Jon shushed him, which didn't stop the wild gestures though. Arthur could see Willas Tyrell watching them from across the sparring yard but he knew he didn't have to be suspicious with the young man from Highgarden, Jon's gut was more paranoid than his own. If Jon trusted someone, Arthur would as well. He might actually accept it if Jon wanted to let Willas in on the whole secret truth about him, the risk wouldn't be higher than it was with Jaime or Barristan. Like them Willas Tyrell had a good right head upon his neck. “Either of you look me in the eyes and tell me this isn't madness!”

Jon slapped Torrhen's arm for that comment, Torrhen glowered at him and elbowed him, Arthur whistled for them to cut it out.

“Torrhen, I know your head doesn't need another boost right now but you know how you compare against the others your age in Dorne.” Arthur ignored Jon's incredulous look, to hell with humble beginnings and keeping Torrhen's feet on the ground. If Robert wanted a show, he was going to get one but on Arthur's terms. “Quentyn and Anders can't hold up to you, and take a look around. I've pulled your ears five times on the first day because you kept on gloating over the lack of competition. You go into that field and you'll be the last one standing, and I _need_ you to keep your head on your shoulders when they set that stupid crown onto your sword. We cannot have another Harrenhall, that is all Robert wants, to cause trouble he can turn against us. Against me. Crown your sister, crown your cousins, crown one of Oberyn's daughters, just don't do _anything_ foolish. You're still _my_ squire, everything you do will lead back to _**me**_. You can get drunk as much as you want to, fool around with maids as much as you want to,” Jon made a very disapproving face but Arthur ignored it, not the time to argue about that again, so not the time, “but crown the wrong girl and Robert will not see Arthur Dayne but Rhaegar Targaryen once more in my face.” Torrhen made a high pitched whining sound and stomped his feet, “And Jon, you all of people know how delicate this can get, so crown Rhaena, crown Sansa if you win, just don't let it cause any whispers.”

_Be my son a little longer, not Rhaegar's just yet._

Jon knew that his chances to win were by far slimmer than Torrhen's, he was up against so many boys he knew were good in the saddle and with a lance in their hands. Arthur and him had watched over his competition in the last days and Jon had been very realistic in his view of it all. Domeric. Loras Tyrell. Both of them probably experiencing their last tourney as squires. Even among Dorne there were enough squires who could beat him, most of all Perros Blackmont, Benjen's own squire. But there was a chance and Arthur couldn't risk _anything_.

“No,” Jon also decided to Arthur's disbelief and Torrhen's amusement, shaking his head and looking thoughtful all of a sudden. Did the boy decide now of all times was a good moment to start rebelling, too? “I know what I'll do. Jace joined the melee, and let's be honest, how many are there who can go against him now if you and almost the entire Kingsguard joust.” Arthur almost winced when Torrhen's face turned dark and he internally sighed when his nephew went to open his mouth, and judging by the look in Jon's eyes he had also noticed what fire he had just started.

“Lysaro joined as well and you know which people taught _him_ how to fight.” Torrhen pointed out and it was hilarious to hear it from him, considering he had basically spent no time at all with the older youth. Despite the chances of sparring against a Golden Company trained kid. Out of the two of them only Jon had been interested in talking with Lysaro, Arthur had rarely seen him in the last days without either Lysaro, Vaemon or Willas. Torrhen had on the other hand either hung around the Kingsguard, terrorized Barristan's squire for hours or waltzed around with Robb and Domeric. “And Garlan picked the melee over the joust, too. Baelor Break...”

“Torrhen, the man has a _name_.”

He was gonna throttle Oberyn for telling that story to the boys.

“Baelor Hightower then, for the gods' sake.” Torrhen grumbled, entirely unimpressed of the looks he was getting he continued with his name dropping, “Addam Marbrand. There are many good men in the melee this time.” Torrhen wasn't wrong, it really was a highly packed event.

“Don't you think that your bias against Jace is having you judge the situation a little too harshly?” Jon wanted to know before Arthur could say any word though and Torrhen rolled his eyes, prompting Jon to prop his hands up against his thighs.

“Boys, don't start fighting now.”

“Lysaro doesn't have the experience that Jace has.” Jon completely ignored him though and Arthur blew out a breath, what a time it had been when they had still hung onto his every word.

“Lysaro was taught by Company Captains,” Torrhen hit right back because this was the one topic where Torrhen's knowledge excelled over Jon's, Arthur was aware this could continue for hours if he didn't find a word in soon. “He has joined battles, led a garrison and won battles.”

“Jace did all of that as well.” Jon held against Torrhen's points and Arthur sighed. “He has simply more experience and he has less hesitation in going against fellow Westerosi, Lysaro doesn't want to have people talk.” And people would talk if this Lysene stranger who was half a Targaryen and half a member of a family who had once caused havoc in Westeros. “And Garlan is good, real good but he's never been in a melee this big before. Baelor Hightower...”

“Fought in the Rebellion.”

“And ever since has sat in Oldtown and hasn't actively joined a tourney round since frigging Harrenhall. I did my homework, too, Torre.” Jon grumbled and Torrhen scoffed at him, Arthur had the feeling that 'did my homework' might have simply been overhearing what Vaemon or Willas told Lysaro about his potential competition in the last days. “I admit though I can't judge Addam Marbrand, I don't know him enough but Jace still has very good chances to win.” Arthur judged that slightly different, his money would have been put on a different name but he didn't voice that opinion out loud. “Rhaena will not want the crown from us, she'll want it from her father, and what's she gonna do with more than one crown anyway. Domeric will chase me off a _cliff_ if I crown Sansa.”

“So give Arya the crown and let her _eat it_ for all I care.”

She would, Arthur knew it, he could make sure the crowns were made from non poisonous flowers and then nicely ask her to eat it right there on the stands and she would do it. With a grin. And she would enjoy every second of it. Lyanna should have done it, too, regardless of the fact that she had later told them she had been close to make Rhaegar eat it. All the wild parts that Jon hadn't gotten from his mother, her niece had soaked it up like bread did with water. Benjen was right in talking to Ned, Arya would do very well in Dorne, better than in the stoic North.

“No, if I win I'm giving the crown to Elia.” Jon explained to the combined stunned surprise of Torrhen and Arthur because where Arthur blinked at his son, Torrhen whirled around and graced Jon with a highly puzzled “what?”

“Roberts wants to play at a mummer's past,” Jon went on with an eye roll, clearly thinking that they weren't quick enough again for him, “so I'll give him one. Just by my rules. I'll give Elia the crown, a symbolic rightening of what Robert's hated dragon prince made wrong. Lyanna's son giving a crown of flowers to the daughter Oberyn named for his sister. It's a sign.”

Oh and what a sign it was.

“It's a very _powerful_ sign, Jon.” Arthur warned because that was a step he couldn't get away from anymore. “To Westeros and _Dorne _most of all.”

He might as well be holding up a sign declaring his intentions for all of Dorne to see.

Not that he wasn't working on that anyway already.

“I'm still not crowning anyone.” Torrhen eradicated the seriousness of a situation as he so easily could and Arthur made to let him see reason when Jon came before him.

“Yes, you will!” He snapped at his cousin who glowered at him, not really with deep fire behind it but the annoyance was there, even if only on the surface.

“Oh yeah? Who are you going to crown, Uncle Arthur, if you win?” Torrhen turned back on Arthur in a response, probably knowing he would talk against a wall with Jon. “Because Ma is gonna slap you silly with it, the only one she wants a crown from is Barristan.”

Yes, aware, noted, understood, got it, thank you.

It was time for Arthur Dayne to stop crowning his sister, and damn the stars why had Allyria remained at home.

“I have half a mind to crown Aurane.” He told the boys who both raised an eyebrow, “they'll talk no matter what I'll do, like this I'll at least not care.”

And wasn't that a nice throwback to what Elia had once said to have him stop glowering.

How different would the scandal only have been if Rhaegar had crowned a Kingsguard?

Aerys might have just choked to death on his own spit right there in the stands and a lot of problems wouldn't have followed. And Elia would have cried of laughter, Arthur was sure of it.

“I...” Jon stopped and scrunched up his nose, something that made him look so young still, “I don't think Uncle Aurane is gonna like being Queen of Love and Beauty.” Torrhen snorted in a sign of what an understatement that was.

“No, he won't, so I'm at a standby,” he admitted to both boys, Torrhen made the defiant 'so why should I know what to do' face while Jon only looked thoughful again.

“Crown Ma, you know, in memory?”

“Another crown for Lyanna? I don't think that is the sign Robert wants to see.” Arthur noted with a grimace, he wasn't too keen on thinking back to Harrenhall honestly either. That would only lead to darker thoughts ahead of the next days, thankfully enough he still had some time to think about what to do in case of winning the joust. Torrhen was out of time. Which was exactly the reason for sure on why Torrhen huffed and then stared them both down in the next moment.

“Well if you haven't figured out whom to crown, I don't need to have an answer right now either.” Torrhen declared frustrated enough, dodged the hand that Jon reached out to stop him and then stalked off, right back over to the Kingsguard corner of the sparring yard. Barristan wasn't there but Arthur knew that every Kingsguard always knew where their brothers were.

“Where are you going?” Jon called after his cousin, a familiar tick in his eyebrow that Arthur had a long time ago already gotten familiar with on Rhaegar's face. It was the 'why are people being so difficult' tick.

“Finding Barristan,” Torrhen called over his shoulder without stopping his steps, over in the Kingsguard corner Barristan's poor squire had clocked him already and was visibly desperately trying to collect his stuff to vanish, “maybe he has some advice.”

“What am I? The courtjester playing a knight?” Arthur also called after his nephew who only waved a hand before disappearing around the corner, “Why did I make him my squire again?”

“I don't know. Pa, why is Robert doing this?” Jon asked him the question of all question and Arthur sighed, dragging a hand through his hair and then wiping it down his face. “He cannot possibly think this will make him any friends. Or bring him any sympathy from the people he should be trying to appease. I cannot see Uncle Ned liking this any more than you do. Or Uncle Benjen. Or Oberyn. Elion. I could keep up naming people.”

“Flower crowns??” Aurane's voice snarled out as the man belonging to it turned the corner of a tent close by, hands gesticulating wildly the second he saw them alone, “Has he lost his fucking mind entirely now?”

“Or Aurane, apparently.”

“You will not by any chance let me crown you?” Arthur tried his luck as Aurane walked over to them, Jon smothered a giggle into his sleeve and Aurane gave a rough laugh.

“My darling, I love you,” he began and gave Arthur a quick kiss before coming to stand next to him. “but I need to keep face in the eyes of my crew and the fleet.” Stupid reputation. Arthur took another deep breath, tried to somehow placate the whirlwind of chaos inside of his mind that could only see bad outcomes and disasters happening.

Robert wanted his own Harrenhall.

He wanted so desperately to find something he could blame on Arthur.

“Pa, are you okay?” Jon asked him when the silence became a little bit too stiffling and Arthur for a brief second thought about lying, Jon already had enough to worry about, but he had promised Jon to be open and honest about his worries as well. So he looked at his son and shook his head, Aurane rubbed a hand over his arm. “Why is he doing this?”

“Because he's still living in the past,” Arthur answered his son's question, “he can't move on. Eight years ago, I still had some sympathy for it but not anymore. He didn't lose his loved ones, he didn't have to fear for his life and he never lost sleep because he was too paranoid something could happen. What hardships did he ever truly go through? He lost his parents, didn't look upset at their funerals at all. Jon Arryn allowed him to remain a child when Robert was already past twenty.”

Arthur could feel himself get agitated so he tried another deep breath.

“He led a war because someone supposedly stole his favourite toy. And no one can tell me otherwise, your uncle and Jon Arryn, and their men, they had other reasons. They walked South against Aerys, they wanted to exact revenge on Aerys for the murder of Rickard Stark, your uncle Brandon and the other heirs. And I can understand that even. What Aerys did, it remains unforgivable but Robert went to war to kill Rhaegar. And only for that. He didn't care for Westeros' future, he only wanted back a girl that never existed.”

“Only the more reasons to keep calm now,” Aurane pointed out and Arthur blew out a breath, “he wants to act a child so prove you've always been the adult here. Ignore his taunts.”

“I don't know how many hits I can still take.”

\--

Torrhen mumbled to himself as he left his uncle and Jon behind and stomped over to the Kingsguard corner again, currently it was only filled with squires, Ser Severin and Ser Jaime. Both Knights smiled at him and Torrhen didn't know what his face gave up as he drew up to the Reacher boy frantically packing up his things.

“You're gonna scratch the armguards in that haste,” he snapped at Barristan's squire who flinched so hard he dropped off the chair he had been sitting on. Torrhen sighed and for once took mercy on the kid and instead knelt down in the sand and held out a hand. “Gimme here, I'll show you.” The boy looked at him like a deer caught between a wall and a bowman's arrow for a very long moment before he very slowly handed over the armguard and the polishing cloth.

Torrhen caught Ser Jaime's eyes over the boy's shoulder and rolled his eyes, Ser Jaime shook his head with an amused smile and then turned back to watch Ser Severin train his own squire.

By the time Barristan returned from his shift of duty, Torrhen felt like he had positively made up for what he had put the kid through. One small incident with Shadow maybe excluded, that had really been in bad taste. After patiently showing the kid how to properly take care of a knight's armor without staining or damaging it, Torrhen had even began to talk to this boy.

Luca.

Whose name was Luca.

Luca was hesitatent still but he was answering and at least stopped looking like a panicked rodent, still, Torrhen didn't miss how the boy breathed out a sigh of relief when Barristan turned up. Torrhen and him exchanged a long look that started with Barristan raising an eyebrow upon finding the two of them together and ended with Torrhen shrugging his shoulders.

“Luca, how about you return my armor to the Kingsguard tents and then find your friends to walk around the grounds a little.”

“Yes, Ser,” Luca happily agreed and carefully this time packed up his things and the armor and then looked at Torrhen, stuttered out a “thank you” before being on his way.

“Have you decided to hand out mercy before the killing blow?” Barristan wondered and sat down next to Torrhen who watched some Stormlander boys train at the front of the yard.

“Very funny,” Torrhen sarcastically drawled in a response and then shrugged again, “don't know, think I was a little too unfair to him. All this underlying tension is starting to get to me.”

“Ah,” Barristan breathed out and then reached over to ruffle Torrhen's hair, “just wait til later. Once you've flattened the melee, no one will talk about the tension between the King and your uncle anymore. They'll only talk about you. A new rising star in the sky.”

“Unless I crown the wrong girl, then they're gonna talk about uncle three times more than they already do,” Torrhen gritted his teeth through his words, he hated what some people were putting his uncle through, were still putting him through for having been the friend of someone. “I will not let Uncle Arthur feel the consequences of someone else's stupid decisions again.”

“Very kind of you, and very understanding,” Barristan agreed with his thought and then stood up again, “so let's go a few rounds and then figure out who could be not only a fitting choice but also one that will draw the talk even further away from your uncle.”

“That kind of girl exists?” Torrhen posed in doubt and Barristan laughed as he pulled him up as well, “you know, this remains at flower crowning someone. I am not going to give anyone hopes.”

“We'll figure it out.”

\--

“Do you think this is a joke?”

Jaime's question came out of nowhere as Arthur and him walked the tourney grounds together, just the two of them for once and though attention was still drawn, people left them in peace.

“You know, like in times of old when Kings threw tourneys to distract from the misery?”

Arthur took a moment before he answered, eyes flickering over the people they were passing by, highborn children playing outside their parents' tents, watched by guards. Smallfolk children running around the tourney grounds, entirely unsupervised but all of them so happy. And then the highborn grown ups sitting and having their talks, watching the ongoings on the sparring yard, walking around like they were.

The smallfolk people walking around to sell their goods, the Essosi wandering around and taking in this so different culture. The mummers making noise to gain audience. The merchants yelling over each other in their booths.

Everyone was smiling.

Maybe half of them was actually happy.

“Rhaegar used to tell me that this whole farce, this joke, it all only works as long as more believe are ignorant of it than not,” Arthur told Jaime who blew out a breath. He was tired, Arthur didn't need difficult memories from the short time they had served together to paint him this picture, Jaime looked tired. “People like to be fooled, they like to be blind. Unfortunately that has always been the case and I fear it will remain so. Why are you asking? Something going on?”

“Nah,” Jaime shook his head and they turned a corner to step foot onto the Westerlander area, Jaime quickly cashed in some smiles here. “I've just had way too much time on my hands to think lately. Being responsible for guarding a toddler is not exactly... I remember it more exhausting,” Jaime added after having abruptly stopped and Arthur gave him a sad understanding smile. Viserys and Rhaenys had both never been able to sit still for longer than a minute. “The Queen hovers around her son like a net, always ready to intervene. He's a strong boy, I really don't understand her behavior.”

“Considering that she has already given birth once before and the child proved to not be sickly at all, I don't understand it either,” Arthur gave in response and then furrowed his brows. “How is that working out anyway? King marries the woman he already had a bastard with, everyone knows about it except the boy. Maybe I should consider us all lucky when Jon goes for the throne because it deprives us of another Daeron-Daemon disaster, only so much worse because the bastard is the firstborn.”

Jaime grimaced and raised a hand in greeting to Addam Marband who walked over to them, causing Jaime and Arthur to stop.

“I don't know what they're thinking. Can you imagine it? Andric being your full blood brother but you're Lord of Starfall because he was born before a marriage?” Jaime wanted to know and Arthur shook his head. “That boy is gonna find out the truth one day and I wouldn't wanna be the King, the Queen, let alone poor Orys that day. Edric Storm remaining oblivious is the best thing that can happen to everyone, most of all to him. Hey, Addam.”

“You two are looking very gloomy on such a bright day.” Addam Marbrand greeted them both with a handshake and Arthur snorted.

“I'm not gloomy, my squire is gonna tear apart that melee later and you're all gonna be too busy staring to even realize the flies in your mouth.” Arthur laughed and Jaime blinked at him while Addam started guffawing, “yes, you heard me right. Fuck that whole humble business, my nephew is gonna make them all eat dirt.”

“How old is the boy again? I saw him around the sparring yard and he's got a swing, that one.” Addam gave praise and whistled in appreciation, Arthur's mood got even better. Aurane and Jon had already helped in their own way but letting himself bask in someone else giving praise to his squire and nephew, he let himself feel the positivity now, he needed it. “You thinking of knighting him anytime soon?”

“Directly when we get home again, preparations are already underway.” Arthur explained and then chuckled, “I can hardly believe it, Torrhen is turning six and ten sooner rather than later. And sometimes it feels like yesterday still that I saw you for the first time on a sparring yard,” he mentioned towards Jaime who rolled his eyes, “totally green behind the ears still.”

“_Who is that boy?” Arthur wanted to know and nudged his chin in the direction of some blond boy who was smirking at his opponent, he couldn't be older than nine or ten. Rhaegar looked up from where he had been tightening his boots and Oswell stopped checking over one of his swords. “The lanky blond kid.” Just then as he said it the blond boy swept into motion and attacked the other squire, that one taller than him and with broader shoulders already, copper hair bound back behind his head._

“_I've no idea,” Oswell grunted and went back to his work, his squire had knicked one of the twin swords yesterday and Oswell was extremly grouchy. Rhaegar on the other hand began to smile and then even briefly laughed._

“_Funny that you notice him,” he began and Arthur glanced over to him, “that is Jaime Lannister.” His reveal was emphasized by the blond boy giving a near perfect spin to force his friend completely on the defense, something the other boy took in with a loud grunt and hardening jaw. _

“_That's Lord Tywin's son?” Arthur wanted clarified and Rhaegar nodded, around them the usual hassle of a tourney continued. “He is not what I would have expected.” Striking a victory Jaime Lannister smirked but also immediately reached out to pull his friend back on his feet, then a hand got once more outstretched and the boys grinned and laughed as they shook them. No hard feelings. Some other boy crept forward, his shoulder showing a sigil Arthur didn't recognize, maybe a household knight squire, maybe some other visiting knight's squire. It didn't seem to matter to Jaime Lannister who happily accepted another sparring partner._

“_What did you expect?” Rhaegar inquired curiously and Arthur grimaced, “a spoiled brat?” Arthur shrugged, it wasn't exactly far from the truth, firstborn son to Tywin Lannister, admittedly the only one the man would see as an heir. And as good as the boy seemed to be with a blade Arthur had expected this little golden cub to be spoiled and acting all entitled. Instead he couldn't look happier sparring against everyone who wanted to._

“_Lord Tywin proposed for his son to squire for me. Father has yet to give an answer.” Rhaegar also revealed and that had Oswell stop again, Arthur even grimaced. “Oh, don't come at me for that talent would be wasted on me. I can see what you're thinking, Arthur.”_

“_Well, but... but it would be, look at him,” Arthur insisted and something sang in him upon seeing the boy's movements and the security he held behind each swing, the precision behind every step. “He's gonna be brilliant with the right tutelage.”_

“_I don't wanna break your heart, Arthur,” Oswell chirped as well again and Arthur rolled his eyes, “but Tywin Lannister is never gonna accept his son squiring for a Dornishman. Regardless of how brilliant they are, that man's narrowminded moral code wouldn't survive that.”_

“_Oswell has a point unfortunately,” Rhaegar agreed and patted Arthur's shoulder when he got up and grabbed his sword again, “now stop focusing on squires. We promised you a good fight, so you'll have it.”_

“It's weird now, to think that I could have been in Richard's place,” Jaime said when Arthur was done reminishing. “I don't think things would have been different, Aerys would have still gotten me into the Kingsguard, I think, but I would have been more prepared. And you would have taught me in a roundabout way.”

“You did great with the situation as it was,” Arthur told him and then rolled his shoulders, “one of you up for a round on an actual yard? I feel like I've been running around all day making sure my boys are prepared for what's to come now.”

“Hells, I'd be up for a round or two, Dayne. Never gonna say no to that.” Addam joyfully called out and they made their way back to the sparring yard. Mixed up as their group was they took up a spot in the middle of the field really. Arthur quickly noticed that the presence of girls watching from the sidelines had massively decreased so he wouldn't even need to look around to know Torrhen had left. Jon wasn't around either, had probably ventured off again to either indulge into spoiling Arya some more or he was once more talking about the stars only knew what with Vaemon and Willas Tyrell.

“Show me what you got, Marbrand. I wanna know what my cousin is up against in the melee.” Arthur teased Addam a little as they got ready and Addam sent only a brief glance in Dawn's direction before he shrugged and attacked. When Addam tapped out a few minutes later, even Arthur felt some sweat and it felt good. So good in fact that when Jaime quickly took Addam's place and came at him without even a grin of a warning, Arthur even had to yelp and jump back a step.

“So, we're playing unfair now,” he called out and laughed when Jaime shrugged, a smirk stealing itself over the lips of the younger man.

“Not my fault if you're growing distracted in your old age, Arthur,” Jaime joked and Arthur was going to show him who was growing old. He made a low swing that Jaime parried just so and in their blocked stance they looked at each other and grinned.

They both needed a distracting and they were going to make this count.

Jaime swung himself out of the defensive position and crooked a finger at Arthur who didn't let himself be asked twice.

Swords clashed.

And they both immediately felt better.

Among their audience, standing maybe three steps next to Addam Marbrand behind the fencing, a blond girl of one and seven was staring hungrily at the swordfight, wanting with all her heart to one day be as good as either of them. She didn't know yet that her future would lead her into the path of one of those knights for sure.

\--

Torrhen smiled when Arthur clicked the last clasps close on his armor, no cloak, it would only get in the way during the fighting but the rest of his armor was all complete. It was new, worn in over the journey to Storm's End, and even then never in full measure, only ever parts. This was the first time he wore all of it since the fitting, the first time the set was complete and he felt so good.

“Looking good,” his uncle also commented and Torrhen grinned at him, “you know I usually give you speeches about being humble, keeping your ego contained and let actions speak instead of your mouth but this time, you won't hear any of that from me.” Arthur squeezed his shoulder and then turned away from him. They were in Arthur's and Aurane's tent, alone because Arthur had asked for a moment with him to get him ready and Torrhen had been more than happy to let his uncle help.

Arthur had never been father figure, so much was right, he had always been clearly uncle, even in the head of a little boy already, but that didn't mean that Torrhen hadn't spent his entire life so far already looking up to him. He had wanted his uncle's trust, his respect, his pride in him, and he knew that now where it was given, he was going to give it the respect it deserved as well.

He shifted while his uncle walked over to one of the chests, tried to see if there was anything that pinched still but the armor fitted perfectly. It was nothing fancy, simple black to honor something that Jon hadn't even declared openly yet. A falling star on his chest, a direwolf of Shadow's liking on his back. And speaking of said wolf, Shadow was watching him from the corner of the tent, he had taken the worst to the tourney grounds out of the five direwolves who had come along.

Lady and Ghost, as well trained as they were they listened to their masters. If Sansa or Jon said 'stay', they staid, life threatening situations for themselves or their masters excluded. Lady staid among the Northerners, Ghost really only moved between the Dornish camp and the tent of Uncle Lucerys, most of the time though he really made use of his name. Greywind trailed Robb or Alys across the tourney but never made a fuss or growled at anyone, except Olenna Tyrell and Torrhen couldn't blame the wolf, that old lady was just bad news.

Nymeria, the one everyone had expected to cause trouble, was exceptionally well behaved as well and it fell to Shadow to become the odd one out. After a couple of incidents involving Shadow and some people that had challenged Torrhen to a mock fight on the sparring yard and a couple of more incidents with Barristan's idiot of a squire who had done nothing more than just sheer exist, Shadow was more or less banned from leaving the Dornish camp for the day and he took it really moodily.

As in continously looking like Torrhen had fully intentionally stabbed a knife in his heart with his own bare hands.

“Stop it,” he told his furry friend while Arthur kept on rummaging around the chest, Shadow huffed and put a paw over his eyes, “you only got yourself to blame. You shouldn't have snapped at those people.” Which admittedly might have been Torrhen's fault after all in at least one case but Barristan truly deserved a better squire than the fool he had, maybe the kid would start working now after that direwolf scare from yesterday. Shadow peeked out at him again and Torrhen rolled his eyes. “I'll make it up to you tomorrow,” he promised and the wolf let his tongue loll out, content again.

Just as uncle Arthur turned around again and let Torrhen's mind get wiped blank.

Because he knew that sword sheath.

“Uncle...”

“I was talking with Andric before we set out,” Arthur said, completely ignoring his stuttered address and Torrhen's heart was bursting with something suddenly. “I don't think there is a lot I can teach you still. You've come so far and I am so proud of the warrior you have become. So I think that when we return to Starfall, we're gonna make you kneel in the Great Hall.” Arthur explained and Torrhen swallowed, it was the one thing he had been working towards of course, and now it felt so unreal to have it so close. “I'm sure that if you personally ask politely, Robert might just free Barristan for a short trip as well. Contrary to Jon and me, he likes you.”

“And that?” Torrhen croaked out, fully overwhelmed with the news and the sight of his father's sword, “why did you bring that?”

“Because you're ready,” was his uncle's simple reply and he shifted the sword into one hand to tip Torrhen's chin up with the other, “your first big tourney as a squire, and your last as well already. You're stepping out of the shadows today, Torre, and it should be with the right sword in your hands.”

“But...”

“There is no but. I want you to go out there and show all of them, every single one of them who you are. Where you come from and that no one should ever underestimate your abilities to protect your family.” Torrhen glanced up and got drawn into the fire in his uncle's eyes. “I want these people to see that Dorne has born another warrior. I want the North to see Brandon Stark's son. And I want Robert to see my squire demolish that squire melee.”

“You're not exactly helping in not getting my ego up right now.” Torrhen deadpanned and his hands still completely on instinct took the sword from the sheath and raised it in a tight grip, feeling his fingers mold around the handle. It felt good, it felt right.

“Like I said, screw that today. I can have Jon get you down again starting tomorrow.” His uncle mentioned and Torrhen heard him but his eyes were fixed on the sword. The last time his father had held this, he had walked to confront a King over his missing sister, he had walked to demand a duel against Rhaegar Targaryen. He hadn't been scared at all, people said, he had only thought about protecting his family. “Today I want you cocky and bratty, I want those boys believing they have a chance when they don't.”

Arthur fastened the sheath to the swordbelt around Torrhen's hips, it had long since stopped being the first one that Barristan had gifted him before he had even met the man. The one he was currently wearing, black like his armor, was another one that Barristan had gifted him, made by a leather worker in King's Landing who had already made belts and other stuff for the Targaryens.

“I won't disappoint you,” Torrhen said and finally looked up again, his uncle smiled and squeezed his shoulders.

“I know, Torrhen, I know you won't.” Arthur smiled and the pride in his eyes was no longer something that made Torrhen uncomfortable, because finally he felt like he could keep up with it. “Whether you win or don't today, it won't change that I am so proud of who you have become. And I couldn't wish for anyone better to be Jon's best friend and his greatest protector. Now, get out there and show them Dorne's strength.”

“You got it.” Torrhen agreed and slipped the sword back into its protective hold, felt the weight settle perfectly on his hip. He wasn't allowed to carry his daggers today, only one weapon was allowed on a person in the melee, and a shield for those who wielded their swords with one hand but Torrhen needed both, had always preferred larger weapons with a two-handed grip.

“There is just one more little thing,” his uncle called him back when Torrhen had already turned to leave, intent to see Jon still before the melee started, maybe even see if his sister had stopped being so difficult and would be happy to give him her favor after all. It wasn't his fault the girls kept looking at him.

Wasn't his fault he was good looking.

“Okay?”

“Please don't _kill_ anyone?”

“Hilarious.” Torrhen grunted and left the tent under his uncle's loud laughter, but he also smiled because at least his uncle's mood had increased again. He hoped one of the King's squires would get in his path during the melee, if he couldn't take his frustration over the King's treatment of his family out on him, he could try to knock his squires out as quickly as possible, as humiliating as possible.

\--

Barristan Selmy had seen his fair share of tourneys in his life, more than he could count or even remember truly, and still he hadn't been excited for a squire melee to begin since... well frankly, he had never been excited to see a squire melee begin before. Kingsguard squires were usually rather seldomly seen in the melee, they jousted, just like the Kingsguard themselves rarely partook in the melee.

And he hadn't been interested in a young boy's skills or performance in a long time, and none of the squires he had grown fond of had ever shown interest in squire events. Rhaegar, Arthur, even Richard and Myles, none of them had ever been interested. Rhaegar's position would have made it near impossible for anyone to lean back, as the only living heir of the King, the whole Kingsguard would have switched at every blade even coming near him. Arthur had considered tourneys a waste of time until he had been a knight and Rhaegar had talked him around, and frankly, more than once it wouldn't have worked anyway. No one would have voluntarily or happily stood against Arthur, even as a boy.

It was the same thought Barristan now held for Torrhen, it was good that Arthur wanted to knight him soon.

Richard had been too eager to look ahead, look towards tourneys as a knight where he could prove himself against the great names, and he had never been a melee partaker anyway either. Myles had, similarily to Arthur, not been the greatest admirer of tourneys. Gods, he still missed that kid, could still see that damn warhammer come down in his imaginations. Myles hadn't even cried out the stories went, it had all gone over so fast. It was one of the greatest fears that Barristan had to see that fate repeated now where Jon was undeniably marching into one clear direction.

A fear to see that fate repeated with Torrhen.

_Barristan stepped quietly into the Sept of Baelor and passed by the mourning women and children who were praying to the Mother, the Father and even the Stranger in their pain. He had paid his respects to the Fallen in Stoney Sept already, and now he had returned with the remains of the royal armies and the Loyalist forces. The orders from the King were clear now, they were going to march North towards the Riverlands on the morrow where the rebels around Robert Baratheon, Jon Arryn and Eddard Stark had retreated to._

_His steps brought him to one of the side rooms where the Silent Sisters had barred up the body of the young man – boy really still – who would be burned tonight and his ashes brought back home to Maidenpool. _

_As expected he found the target of his trip down to the Sept sitting still and unmoving at the dead boy's side, hands clasped over a lifeless one, indigo eyes set on a face that would never show a shy smile again. Rhaegar only looked up when Barristan closed the door behind himself to give them some privacy, and then only briefly as well. Barristan didn't even know anymore if he was more concerned over the anger in young Richard who was brimming with fury and so eager to avenge his best friend's death or over the absolute silence Rhaegar had shown since returning from wherever he had been._

_Without the Stark girl._

_Without Oswell._

_Without Arthur._

_Without Arthur most of all, it puzzled Barristan so greatly how Arthur was not glued to his side now where they had war. Now where Myles was dead. Where Richard was a ticking explosion. Where Connington had been exiled._

_Where was Arthur?_

_With Gerold also being absent that brought the Kingsguard down to only four, meaning three at most would be able to ride out to the Trident and Barristan didn't like those odds. _

_Rhaegar had returned yesterday and hadn't said a word to anyone, he had right away secluded himself to talk to his Father, then he had briefly visited Elia and the children before retreating to his chambers and then here this morning._

“_Do you think he suffered?” Rhaegar spoke up before Barristan could say a word and Barristan thought back to how he had arrived at Stoney Sept, how the men had looked. How Connington had barely understood a single word, mumbling orders still while Maesters tended to his injuries. How it had taken so long for Barristan to even find Richard or Myles, long enough that he had thought the worst already. He thought back to how he had found Richard kneeling on the ground next to the cot they had placed the small body down on._

_He had found Richard and Myles together, just... only one of them had still drawn breath._

_He remembered how Richard had in bits and pieces told him what had happened, how he had turned around mid battle and seen Myles caught between a house wall and Robert Baratheon. How everything had happened so fast when Myles had raised his sword on instinct alone and not been able of course to break the swing of the warhammer that came for him. Richard had told him how Myles had fallen without making a sound, how he must have been dead before he even hit the ground but Robert Baratheon still took another swing at the boy's chest._

“_I don't believe he suffered,” he told Rhaegar now, reaching out a hand to squeeze the Prince's shoulder. “Richard said it all happened so fast. And two Celtigar knights said as well that Myles was dead before he hit the ground.” Barristan knew that there would be no comfort for Rhaegar, not today, not tomorrow. One friend had already died, another one was lost to Essos and forbidden to ever return, Richard was so close to throwing himself in the path of that damned warhammer, too._

“_Some small mercy,” Rhaegar whispered and didn't even look away from Myles' face, “he wanted so desperately to ride away into that fight a knight when I last saw him. He begged me to let him leave with Richard and Jon. Let me fight for you. Knighted for not even one moon, and now he's dead.” Rhaegar heaved a breath and Barristan wished that Arthur was here, he would know what to do better than him, even one of Oswell's badly timed comments would be appreciated. “I had wished so much that I wouldn't have to face him but this cannot go unpunished.”_

“_Don't take this personal, Rhaegar. You need to keep a clear head right now. Go to Elia, see the children, and then get some sleep. We'll ride out at dawn tomorrow.” Barristan told him and Rhaegar nodded but he made no move to get away from Myles' side. “And if I may ask, Arthur and Oswell...”_

“_You may not ask, Barristan.”_

_As he left again then, Barristan could only hope that Myles would be the only one amongst them who had paid the price in the end. He didn't want to imagine how it would feel to see more of the young ones lose their lives while he remained._

He pulled himself out of his memories though when Robert declared the melee to start and the boys down in the pit swung into action. Despite wanting to see the whole picture, Barristan could really only right away focus on Torrhen, his father's sword in his hands and his spine straight and unbending with a confidence that was nearly deadly in itself.

But not as dangerous as those hands holding that sword.

Rules were simple, actual injuries were to be avoided, though no one got disqualified if a little cut happened. Fights weren't executed to the fullest, instead they were still the play acts they were used from training. One fake critical hit and you were out.

Torrhen was great in giving all without going too far, he had already made a name of himself within Dorne, winning one melee after the other in inner Dornish tourneys. And now he got to show an even greater and more diverse audience why exactly that was the case.

He was quick, just as Barristan knew him to be, quick and strong, that unique combination that had already strengthened Arthur so much. Torrhen could really throw himself into a swing and use his physicality and his sheer strength to overpower an opponent, those broad shoulders gave him a big reach and an incredible swing.

At the same time his feet were always moving, he didn't need to brace himself against the ground to really get behind a swing or a block. Torrhen was always on the move, his feet never really touched down on the same spot twice. His grip on the sword was unrelenting, unlike many other boys down in the pit, he didn't have to rearrange his grip much after getting a hit in or faking an attack, and if he needed to reshift his fingers he did it with the flip that had already driven Barristan mad when it had been Arthur at age nine and skinny as a twig.

Now, where it was his son doing that trick that could go so wrong so badly he nearly flinched every single time.

“Damn,” Jaime said quietly next to him when Torrhen's first two victims were almost downed at the same second, both of them Robert's squires. “That boy is really something.”

“Learned from the best,” Barristan answered him, mindful to keep his voice down as they were standing so close to the royal stand. Jaime gave a muffled laugh and kept his focus on the pit where Torrhen was decemating his competition.

There it was, that moment where a boy stepped out of the shadows that living and dead legends had thrown over him all his life so far.

Arthur Dayne's squire, not only living up to the footsteps placed in front of him but making his own path already right next to them.

The light was all on Torrhen now and as Barristan took in the stunned and admiring silence from all around, he knew without a doubt that Torrhen Sand would be a name that people talked about after this tourney was over. Everyone would know who Brandon Stark's son was. Up on the royal stand, King Robert looked impressed, probably not even realizing that the first two boys who had needed to tap out after being taken down by Torrhen had been his own squires. Robert was way too fascinated by Torrhen himself.

Over in the Dornish corner, Arthur was hanging onto his nephew's every step as well, and Barristan could see the pride in him. Arthur had done everything right by Torrhen, had mentored him like Ser Laeno had once done with him, the perfect mix between strict orders and free choices. Torrhen was where he was because he wanted to be there, not because someone had pushed him.

That white cloak for him was the right choice because like he had said it wasn't the easy path for him.

Another target in mind, Torrhen faced off against someone he must know well, Prince Quentyn Martell looked immensely unhappy over having been chosen this early into the melee. Barristan saw how Torrhen shrugged though and threw himself into the fight, looking like a young Oswell Whent for a moment, always smirking, always positive, always full force in.

Across the pit, a Lannister squire was making good work of his opponents as well and Barristan nudged Jaime to get some information on him.

“Addam's squire, Ethan, I think that's his name. Good kid, a little rough sometimes, gonna be an interesting moment when those two clash. Arthur and Addam had a real good fight earlier already.” Jaime explained and Barristan felt something inside of himself grow wanting, he wanted Torrhen to win this more than anything in that moment. “And considering that Arthur and Addam won't face off in any official capacity, this development might be something they really like right now.”

Addam found the jousting too posh, Barristan knew that well, Arthur would never join the melee.

_Show them that Dorne will not be pushed down._

_Show them that your uncle trained a warrior, a winner._

Torrhen and Ethan seemed aware of one another and neither made a move towards the other for the time being, they preferred to 'cut down' other opponents first. And it all fell apart like butter, Torrhen's spine grew straighter and straighter and his grin only got bigger. Those hands with Brandon Stark's sword in them knew what to do. Torrhen didn't even look at all where he was putting his feet.

And then, a good half an hour after the melee had been started, Torrhen swung around after a squire from the Vale had tapped out beneath him and the only other boy who remained standing was Addam Marbrand's squire Ethan. Barristan could see how Robert was on the edge of his seat as both boys measured each other up, he could feel his own pulse speeding up.

So close.

Torrhen looked like a wolf ready to hunt when the boys began to circle each other, he had grown a lot of patience over the last years but in a fight he was still head in first, he didn't like to wait for others to make the first move. Strike first, consider options later. Barristan didn't pity whoever was tasked with watching Shadow right now, that wolf had to be tense with fight instincts right now if the bond he had experienced was any indication.

And then Torrhen twisted his sword into another grip and pounced on Ethan who was prepared but not prepared enough. Their swords clashed together in a sound that Barristan both hated and loved, it was clear they were both growing tired, their arms were trembling but Torrhen was yet more fired up than the smaller Westerlander boy. Torrhen bore down on him and Ethan had to spin out of position to not go down just yet.

And on it went.

The next time Ethan attacked and Torrhen nearly had him down again before the Westerlander boy managed to slip out of his grasp again. Twice more Torrhen attacked and the same happened.

Until Ethan let exhaustion catch up.

A single misstep.

  
Torrhen saw it all, jumped for the metaphorical kill and had the boy quicker down on his back than Ethan could have realized his mistake.

And just like that it was over.

Barristan wouldn't even think of holding back when Ethan's hand slapped the ground twice and Torrhen drew his sword back. He had won, his boy had done it. He cheered and clapped along with the people, even Robert went to his feet, the Dornish and the Northerners went wild.

\--

There was silence in their stand as Lord Renly slid the yellow flower crown upon Torrhen's sword, absolute utter silence and Arthur willed and prayed to the stars that his nephew – his _squire_ – had come to a decision that would not cause a scandal. He was most likely the one Robert would forgive it the most but he really didn't want to take any chances.

“Please tell me you know what he's going to do,” Ashara whispered to him but Arthur grimaced as he had to shake his head, prompting his sister to breathe out shakily, a row further down Rhaena was staring at Jon's profile as he too was shaking his head, likely answering the same question. Further down the field, Barristan was smiling as he stood guard for the King, his eyes settled on Torrhen as the boy thanked Lord Renly and then turned around.

Arthur blinked and the scenery changed.

_He was showing an elbow against Oswell when the other wouldn't stop ribbing him about the loss in the second to last round. Arthur had never cared about winning in a tourney, and losing against Rhaegar hurt even less than anything else might have. He watched how Rhaegar swung himself back onto his horse after helping Barristan back onto his feet, Arthur's white brother threw a look over to Arthur's sister who gifted him a smile._

_Rhaegar accepted the crown of blue winter roses from Lord Whent and Arthur rolled his eyes over the showmanship of it all, Rhaegar had put the charme up to the stars._

_And then the world stopped._

_Time ceased to exist._

_Everything just stopped making sense as Rhaegar rode past the royal stand, rode past his wife, rode past Elia whose face turned to stone._

_Arthur snapped out an arm and then half turned his body around to brace himself against Oswell who strained against him, lips pressed tight together to not make a mistake in his anger. Arthur couldn't believe himself what he was seeing, couldn't believe that he was forced to watch what was happening as Rhaegar stopped his horse in front of the direwolf banners._

_Stopped his horse in front of Lyanna Stark and dropped the crown of winter roses into her lap._

_No one moved, there wasn't a sound in the air as Rhaegar declared her his “Queen of Love and Beauty.”_

_No one moved until suddenly everyone seemed to and Arthur kept an eye on Rhaegar while roughly pushing Oswell back into the shadows of the entrance tunnel. “Get Elia out of here!” He snapped at his brother in arms but Oswell wouldn't move, glaring in the direction of the stupidest Prince in the entire fucking Seven Kingdoms. “OS!” Arthur bellowed, the sound hidden because everyone was getting louder now, the outrage was enormous, Oswell finally looked at him, “get Elia and Rhaenys out of here! Now!”_

_Oswell nodded and then rushed off, white cloak flying, Arthur balled his hands into fists, trying to breathe through this snake of hot burning something lodging itself into his chest. A small hand tapped against his elbow and he glanced down at Myles who was still very much gaping at Rhaegar who looked like he was the only one not seeing the insult in this as he slowly turned to ride back off the pitch._

“_Take the horse into the stables,” Arthur started his orders, “and then find Richard and disappear for the next two hours.” Myles nodded and reached up a hand to take the reigns of the white mare that stopped next to them, Arthur was trembling with rage. He waited until Myles got moving, until Rhaegar turned to him with that oblivious grin. He waited until he met indigo eyes that showed no regret and then he raised his hand and slapped Rhaegar across the face._

“Oh by the gods, I can't watch. Someone please tell me they know what he is up to,” Tyene muttered and set a hand over her eyes. Down below in the sand pit Torrhen was smiling all prettily again, charme rolled up to the limits as he quite determinedly walked over to the Crownlands stand, Arthur dared to breathe again.

Surely, Torrhen meant to crown Alyssa then, safe choice, good choice. No scandal choice.

“What is he doing?” Rhaena hissed though and Arthur tensed again, sending a prayer up to the hidden stars and lost ones to please keep this boy's head sensible for one afternoon. Just one afternoon, let him get drunk as much as he wanted tonight, until he was puking even, just don't let him crown the wrong girl and cause a scandal. Please no hidden betrothals or hidden romances.

“Why?” Aurane wanted to know from his side, his hand slipping into Arthur's showing that he wasn't oblivious to Arthur's distress, “Alyssa should be...” but he was right away again interrupted by a seemingly nervous Rhaena.

“Alyssa fell _ill_ last night, Justine had her brought to Storm's End to be looked at by a Maester,” Rhaena was quick to point out and everyone seemingly swivelled their head around to stare at Torrhen again, “Alyssa isn't _here_.”

“So, who is he gonna crown?”

Jon's question was answered in the very next moment as Torrhen jumped up on the edge of the stand and dropped the crown of yellow flowers from the Reach into the lap of little Shireen Baratheon who stared up at him with wide blue eyes.

“I name you Princess of Love and Beauty, my Lady,” Torrhen's voice was heard clearly all over the melee pit, and he bowed to the little Lady who carefully reached out delicately touch the flowers. Next to her, Lord Stannis sat stunned, blinking at Torrhen's bright smile, and in lack of the girl's mother being present, it was Lady Wynafryd who sat between her husband and Lady Shireen. Wynafryd reached out with a a soft smile, she took the crown and placed it upon Shireen's beautifully braided black hair.

Arthur couldn't hear what the girl said next but Torrhen simply bowed again to her and then jumped down into the sand again, duty done, content and satisfied. Arthur caught Barristan's eyes over the distance and shook his head with a laugh when Barristan shrugged like this idea should have been obvious to everyone from the start.

Over in the royal stand, Robert looked surprised but touched.

\--

Jon and Arthur found Torrhen sitting on a stack of hay after the whole event was done for the day, people once more walking off in every direction to go about their business. Torrhen was talking with Barristan and smirking thick when he caught sight of them, “Choice approved?” He asked and Arthur couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up, his gloomy thoughts from earlier in the day were all but forgotten. Torrhen had not only given a spectacle for the people but also made a very gallant choice of crowning the King's niece.

“Epic,” Jon commented drily next to him but then was smiling as well, “Tell me why her? It was a very sweet gesture.” Torrhen first shrugged and then huffed himself to give an explanation after all after Barristan had elbowed him.

“She's been hassled by the other girls her age usually, Rhaena told me.” Torrhen started and Arthur sadly knew the full truth behind those rather simple words. Aurane had seen it personally, intervened personally and even brought it to Lord Stannis' attention. “Lady Shireen doesn't really have friends, why not put a smile on her face.”

“Who are you?” Arthur chuckled and Torrhen scowled at him, as usual affronted that anyone doubted he could show his heart and embarassed that he actually had. “I'm very proud of you, Torrhen.” Arthur added on still to stir that conflict of feelings, Torrhen rolled his eyes.

“You should be,” Vaemon's voice had Arthur turn around halfway where Aurane's nephew was walking closer, every day looking more and more like his father, “Lord Stannis is quite happy with the gesture, as much as the man can show happiness but trust me, Father and I know him long enough to see it. Mother wants to use the chance to talk to him about fostering Shireen on Driftmark. Your flowers might as well have given the girl her happiness back. Stay away from Aethan though, for at least until tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because my little brother likes the girl.” Vaemon revealed with a laugh and then already waved goodbye again, hurrying over to where Jon could see some other young Crownlanders waiting.

“Well, gods be damned Torre, can't make anyone happy.” Barristan was laughing as well, he slapped Torrhen on the back which Torrhen noted with a grin so thick Jon just knew this ego boost would hold for months. “I have to go, looking forward to seeing you fall off your horse, Arthur.”

“Don't get cocky again in your old days, Barristan!”

“No one has seen you hold a lance outside of Dorne since Harrenhall, Dayne, I can be plenty cocky!” Barristan called out back to them without turning around and Arthur rolled his eyes, giving a warning look to the smirk on his nephew's face while Jon simply looked like they couldn't act more childish.

“How does it feel, Torre?” Jon also asked to deviate from the situation and Arthur leaned himself against the wall, he was tired but tonight he would still for the first time join the evening festivities.

“It's great.” Torrhen gave in an answer and Arthur saw how Jon raised an eyebrow because that could hardly be all. “Knowing that I won against boys from all over Westeros? I don't have words to describe the feeling. It's incredible. It was like fighting down sparring dummies at times, seemed like they just stood there.”

And there it was.

“Oh boy.” Jon breathed out and wiped a hand over his face, in that moment reminding Arthur so very much of his father whenever Rhaegar had been faced with Richard's or Oswell's overwhelming confidence after a good tourney or even fight. “Pa, that's not something I can get down anytime soon.” Arthur chuckled and then raised his arm when he saw Aurane looking around not far from them, smiling when he noticed Arthur and came walking over.

“Let him, Jon. I think we can both use a hyped up Torrhen right now, and now come on, we got to celebrate a little..”

\--

“You're not going to crown, Elia.”

Tyene never announced herself with a normal greeting.

Jon turned around from where he had been sitting at the back of the feasting tents for the celebration entertainment, Robb who was sitting with him looked from him to Tyene and chose to rather focus on his ale.

“Excuse me?” Jon tried it with a careful approach to Tyene's rather bluntly stated ultimatum, he also grunted when she pushed at him to shift up the bench so she could sit down as well. He furthermore looked around and found Elia sitting with the usual group of girls, among them Rhaena, a still rather pale Alyssa, Sansa and one of Sansa's friends whose name Jon had forgotten unfortunately.

“You're going to crown Margaery Tyrell.” Tyene used the second he was turning back to face her to unroll that piece of decision on him and Jon could see even before he opened his mouth how Robb looked up with his face being a single thundercloud.

“No way,” Robb hence snapped rather hostile at about only a second earlier than Jon hissed out his “Like all the Seven Hells I will!” Tyene blinked at both of them, rather taken aback from the heat in their voices and Jon wondered how she could have missed that developed again, she was really growing distracted this time around.

“Jon, think about the possibilities.” Tyene went on and Jon raised a hand when Robb was about to stand up, Robb huffed but staid and wrapped his fingers tight enough around his cup that his knuckles turned white. Tyene turned confused eyes on Jon.

“Oh, I am thinking about all the possibilities. Believe me but Margaery Tyrell is a harpy, Ty. She was a girl raised to become Queen by her grandmother,” Jon had no doubt that Olenna Tyrell wouldn't even have cared whose side had won the Rebellion. Had the Royal Forces won and Rhaegar succeeded in dethroning his father, Olenna Tyrell would have surely given everything to have never newly born granddaughter be betrothed to Aegon as quickly as possible. When it was Robert who climbed upon the throne, she had definitely thrown every card into betrothing Margaery to the first male heir, “when that fell away they set themselves to finding her the second best match. I can't understand how you missed what happened yesterday, that wretched Olenna Tyrell tried to talk my uncle Ned into a bethrothal for Robb.” Tyene's mouth dropped slightly open and her eyes filled with malcontent at that development, quickly she sent an apologizing look over to Robb who cashed it in with a Robb. “Completely disregarding that Alys was standing _right there_. I trust Willas, Tyene, he really is one of my closest friends, Leonette is clumsy in her social clues but she is kind and Garlan is truly honorable but I want nothing to do with that sister of theirs.”

Jon knew fairly enough that the second he announced his intentions to the whole of Westeros or had someone else do it, there might as well be a swarm of ravens coming from Highgarden with betrothal proposals. But Jon would never accept Margaery Tyrell at his side, the second a son was born that girl and her plotting grandmother would stab a knife in his back.

The Tyrells had become Lord Paramounts only because the Targaryens had made them, their whole wealth and position had started because of a Targaryen King picking them out among the many noble Houses in the Reach. And they had thanked them for it centuries later by doing only the minimum of support during the Rebellion and turning into turncloaks the very second Rhaegar's last breath left his body.

And the Reach was more torn apart than the Riverlands under the ailing Hoster Tully, at least with Willas the Reach had a strong Lord to look forward to who wouldn't make the same stupid mistakes his father did or be influences by a woman who couldn't let old grudges go.

“Fair enough but crowning a girl from within Dorne is playing it safe.” Tyene mentioned casually pointed out and stole the rest of Jon's wine. “I like the sign you want to send, Dorne would certainly appreciate it. And Elia wouldn't throw the crown back in your face,” like Rhaena had threatened she would do when Jon had mentioned it to her on a rather joking basis. Arya had gotten a little too excited over Jon's Pa's proposal to eat it, so that was always a fallback measure.

Also because Aunt Allyria would laugh herself to tears once she heard that story about her new foster daughter.

“Did I ever give you any idea that I do not want to play it safe?” Jon asked Tyene right back and Robb snorted, smiling again now. Jon had always played it safe, he was the son of the man who had always played it safe. Arthur Dayne had never crowned anyone else but his mother, his sister, his great-something-aunt Rhae and in one case in his first tourney after taking the white Queen Rhaella. Rhaegar, who had always crowned his mother before he had been married and then crowned his wife, had played it risky one single time and it had nearly caused the end of his House.

“Jon, you could do with a little risk right now.” Tyene insisted nevertheless and Jon shook his head, “okay, maybe, the Tyrell girl was too high stakes but at least look outside Dorne. And I don't mean Arya with that.”

Arya loved Tyene.

She loved that despite wearing dresses and most of the time acting like a grown up noble Lady, Tyene also knew how to fight with weapons and poisons and had a quick tongue that could get really sharp.

“What about Alyssa Velaryon?”

“I don't think I need to impress the Crownlanders any more than the hidden notion of a dragon returning to the throne already does,” Jon drily pointed out to Robb's proposed idea. Alyssa was sweet and kind and also incredibly sarcastic and when Rhaena and her got into it, Jon only ever backed away quickly. Alyssa looked like a breeze could knock her in two but her words were sometimes capable of taking whole armies down.

Jon's Pa had told him only recently that Princess Elia had been like that, too.

_Never underestimate women, Jon, may they look as frail as paper, they're always cleverer than you._

That had been Uncle Andric's latest piece of advice.

“How about someone from the Riverlands then? I'm sure Robb can point out some daughters for you,” Tyene inquired and Robb shrugged his shoulders. He wasn't really interested in this whole flower crowns business, he had made clear that he didn't want to partake in any of the events even though Northern boys were allowed to join the squire rounds even without being squires as the custom wasn't common in the North. “Come on, there has gotta be some choice that isn't boring and safe.”

“Boring and safe is the better option when anything else might develop into disaster,” Vaemon answered from behind them before Jon could and all of them either turned around or looked up to focus on the dark haired young man. Vaemon looked serious and Jon tensed, something must have happened. “There was a last minute addition to the squire jousting list.”

“Anyone who could cause trouble?” Robb wanted to know when Jon was too stunned for the moment to say something.

_Harrenhall_, it echoed in his mind, _Harrenhall, Harrenhall, Harrenhall._

“That's the case,” Vaemon cryptically began and leaned closer a little, “Adrian came to Father and me earlier, said that the addition had been made last minute by someone from Jon Arryn's retinue. The knight who signed off on this boy hasn't had a squire in twenty years and Adrian has never seen the boy around the Red Keep. And according to him neither have Ser Jaime or Ser Barristan.”

And that allowed only one conclusion.

“We have a mystery squire.”

“Ty, tell the others, quickly. I'm gonna find my Pa.”

\--

“Brother, wake up!”

Across the tourney grounds, Willas Tyrell gasped awake when trembling hands were desperately shaking his shoulder. He hadn't slept that deep to begin with but a headache had forced him to retire early from the celebration of Torrhen's victory. He snapped his eyes open and immediately zeroed in on the ashen gray face of Garlan standing at the side of his bed, one hand still on Willas' shoulder.

One shaking hand.

“Quick, you have to come.”

“What is going on?” Willas grouched out even if worry kept him on his toes, Garlan looked terrible and the last time he had seen his brother before returning alone to his tent Garlan had been happily dancing with his wife. His brother didn't give him an answer though, instead Garlan took some unsteady steps towards the tent exit. Willas jumped out of bed, snapped up a robe and then hurried after his brother while getting at least halfway dressed. “Garlan, tell me right now what is going on? Why do you look like someone died?”

His brother froze for a good few seconds and then slowly turned around again to look at Willas with terrified eyes.

“Father has been poisoned.”

His mind hadn't even fully heard those words in all their meaning before he was pushing past his brother and running across the small distance to his father's tent. Half the Tyrell camp seemed to be in an uproar, guards were swarming out from everywhere but Willas only saw all of that as if through a fog. All of him focused only on one thing.

He stormed into his father's tent and caused his mother and Margaery to whirl around, still dressed up, and Loras to draw his sword but his siblings quickly breathed out again and made room so he could hurry to his father's side. He didn't even really take notion of how his grandmother stepped inside and then quietly bid his siblings to come with her, Margaery was crying, Loras was shaking, looking just as worse as Garlan.

It told Willas everything about what would happen soon, even if he didn't want to believe it.

“Where is the Maester,” he wanted to know, almost amazed at how calm his voice sounded when his head was such a chaotic storm. His mother didn't respond so Willas turned his head towards his father's personal guard, Ser Alec, who was standing at the back of the tent, all while approaching his father's so still but pale form on the bed. “Where is he?” His tone got sharper and Ser Alec swallowed.

“Getting some milk of the poppy, to ease your father's suffering.”

They wouldn't even try?

They would just let him die?

What the hells was going on here? How could a Lord Paramount get poisoned in the middle of a fucking tourney?

There were bloody eyes everywhere.

“Go and get Prince Oberyn.”

“Willas...”

“Did I stutter? That was an order! Get Prince Oberyn. Right now!” Willas snapped out just as Garlan entered the tent, Ser Alec didn't look impressed but hurried off nevertheless. Willas turned back around to confront his mother over what had happened when his father suddenly reached for his hand and opened his eyes, the far away look in them terrified Willas down to the bone.

“My son...”

“It's gonna be okay. Oberyn will be able to help, you'll see.” Willas reassured his father and clasped his hand around his father's ice cold one, Garlan crouched down next to him. “How could this happen? And why did no one get me sooner?” He wanted to know next from his mother who kept on clutching her handkerchief between two trembling hands.

“He only complained of a bad stomach so we returned here,” his mother stuttered out after some more staring, “and then it got bad so quickly.”

“Willas, it doesn't matter,” his father's whispy voice interrupted again and Willas looked back at him, “it's too late to do anything now.”

“No, no, it...”

“Willas.” His father calling his name stiffled the rebellious and frantically trying to remain oblivious to the truth right in front of his eyes thoughts in Willas' head. “I'm proud of you. Our House will be in good hands with you,” and his father broke out into hard coughs. “And Garlan, keep close to your brother. He'll need your support.”

“I will, Father, I promise.”

In the background their mother started crying.

And Willas had to helplessly watch how his father closed his eyes, took a couple more shaky breaths and then his chest fell for the last time, the hand in his grew slack.

Two minutes later, still crouching at his father's bedside while his brother had gone over to comfort their mother, Willas looked up when the tent flaps were thrown open wildly and Oberyn rushed inside with a leather bag, Ser Alec and the Maester right behind him. Oberyn saw his face, saw his father and his face fell.

“I'm so sorry, Willas.”

Willas nodded, body numb, he looked over to Highgarden's Maester, “prepare an announcement. I want it to go out across the tourney grounds tonight still. Send the ravens home and to our bannermen's keeps on the morrow. Ser Alec, take your squire and find a Kingsguard, Jon Arryn or the King himself. I want an official investigation into how this could have happened.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

My Lord.

Lord indeed.

Willas Tyrell, Lord Paramount of the Reach.

Willas Tyrell, feeling utterly helpless.


	6. Interlude - Always and Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know when a full new chapter will come, still reeling heavily from the changes this pandemic has brought into my life.
> 
> Have this little Interlude as a consolation.

The night sky was clear and the wind merciful for once, still pushing the ships along but not being a stabbing force in one's face. The young man standing at the bow of the flagship of this small armada crossing over the sea from Essos sighed as he leaned forward on the railing, watching how the ship cut through the water.

“What are you thinking about,” it came from his right only a moment later and Daemon Blackfyre smiled, figured that he wouldn't sleep either if Daemon hadn't retired yet. He waited until the other man's presence had walked over to him and stopped at his side before he looked up, catching violet eyes in the light of the full moon.

“Life,” he answered and laughed right away when Aegor furrowed his brows at him, turning with his back towards the railing while still keeping Daemon in his sight. Aegor looked far more awake than Daemon physically felt, it was his head that kept him from seeking his bed just yet.

“That's... vague.” Aegor commented drily and Daemon chuckled, mood immediately lifted by his brother's presence, only one of the reasons why he had insisted to keep Aegor at his side instead of making him a captain in charge of one of the other ships. He needed his brother at his side, the Commander of his Kingsguard, the one person he could trust his deepest darkest thoughts to.

The only one by now.

His only brother.

His best friend.

“For you maybe,” he replied to Aegor's sarcasm and got an eye roll for it, balm on his frayed nerves, in all of this change that had come over his life in the last moons, last year even, Aegor hadn't changed at all. He was still the temperamentful, loud, reckless but so loyal best brother, they could still read each other inside out with just one glance, that hadn't changed. And it felt so good. In all of this uncertainty awaiting him now as the war loomed on the horizon in Westeros, Daemon knew that he could count on Aegor remaining steadfast at his side.

“Okay, what's really going on?” Aegor broke through the too heavy thoughts in Daemon's head with an impatient question, prompting Daemon to straighten up again. They were alone this deep in the night and this far ahead at the bow, they could talk in peace and privacy for once again.

“Just having a moment while we sail off into war,” he downplayed his thoughts but Aegor kept on watching him so intently, easily seeing the lie in it.

“Are you afraid of our chances?” Aegor downright wanted to know, looking skeptic of it, he was a brilliant tactician, Daemon knew he could trust in his choices more than in those of Quentyn Ball. Aegor wasn't battle-hardened but his head was that of a man way beyond his age. They could win this war, if they played their cards like Aegor had planned, they could win this war.

“No,” he hence mentioned and looked towards the horizon again, “I'm just putting it into perspective that we're soon facing our blood on the battlefield.” It was a rough thought, as much as the hatred in his heart had grown and grown over the last years and all the events that had transpired, Daeron was still a part of his blood.

Brother or cousin.

It was a difference to Aegor, it was a difference to the people loyal to Daemon.

But sometimes Daemon still felt like it mattered, like it had to mean something at least.

As if able to read his thoughts, Aegor made his opinion clear again, “he's not our brother, he has never _been_ our brother.” He was a man of extremes, always had been, even as a boy, and Daemon doubted he would either change. All or nothing, that had always been Aegor's way of life. Daemon had made compromises, Aegor had set made decisions. “And his sons are nothing to us either.”

“I know, I know,” Daemon didn't evade the confrontation this night, right in the mood for it, “”but as Naerys' son he still remains our cousin, he's still family.”

“He chased us away.” Aegor brought the ultimatum down, angry about it still right down to the core. “To an unfinished castle after your sons had just died in the cradle, while Calla was so badly sick. Doesn't sound like _family_ to me.” Daemon knew that though the loss of his second set of twins had all touched upon them badly and left them reeling for a while, it was Calla's sickness that had truly been the catalyst for Aegor's and Rohanne's hatred of their family. Aegor had been wrapped around Calla's every finger from the first moment on, just like Daemon had, the first daughter who had survived beyond her first week of life.

His precious little princess. He would die for his sons, he had known that from the first moment he had set eyes upon Aegon and Aemon so many years ago, still half a child himself by then. But his daughters? For Calla? The world would burn to a cinder.

“I know you're angry because of...”

“I'm not angry because of _her_.” Aegor unfortunately understood him all wrong and immediately raised his hackles to the sky. Daemon abandoned his view of the sea and instead turned to calm his brother down again. “Shiera never was my anything, the sex was fun. And that is where it stops. I'm not leading this war for her, just like you're not leading this war because of Daenerys.” Daemon winced, those rumors had nearly thrown a brick into his marriage because Rohanne had misunderstood his dismissal of talking about it at all.

Whereas he had simply not wanted to talk about it because it hadn't been true.

“And still it's what people think.” Daemon sighed and then braced himself on the inside because Aegor's so passionate defending of his family had brought up that thought again he had been carrying around for a while already.

“Let them think what they need to think so they can sleep at night.” Aegor dismissed the gossiping of people always, he didn't bother what others were thinking of him, he never had. Daemon had found that so fascinating in him, their Father had found it admirable. Aegor did what Aegor wanted, public image be damned.

He would do good for Daemon's family.

“You sure you're okay, Aegor?” He nevertheless wanted to know because Aegor sounded a bit more bitter than usual but Aegor shrugged, fingers dancing over the hilt of his sword. It was a fine one, a gift that Daemon had given him when his brother had come off age. It wasn't Blackfyre but it was a really well-made sword, the pommel a red stallion with black wings, like Aegor preferred his sigil to look like on his banner as well.

“I'm not the one who is staring out across the horizon in the middle of the night”, Aegor pointed out quite drily and Daemon huffed, caught out again. “What's really on your mind, Daemon?”

“You have to promise me something, brother,” Daemon began quite cryptically but Aegor was still nodding right away, turning to be fully facing him.

“Anything,” it came from Aegor's mouth as quick as he could draw his sword and knives, Daemon took one last deep breath and then decided to just be blunt about it.

“If I die...”

“No.” Aegor drew back immediately, struggling right away when Daemon grabbed his arms to keep him from taking flight away from this situation. Twice already he had tried to approach this possible outcome but Aegor was simply physically refusing to partake in it.

“Aegor!” Daemon snapped and though he bodily stopped resisting upon the clear order having come from Daemon's lips, violet eyes still screamed and begged for him to not continue.

“Don't.” Aegor whispered in a plead but Daemon didn't take mercy anymore, he settled one hand upon Aegor's shoulder and one hand grabbed his brother's chin to make him look at him.

“If I die, you won't follow me.” He made it sound like the demand it was, like the command it was meant to be, not just from one brother to another, but from King to his strongest ally. “Promise me that _if_ I die in this war to come, you **will not** follow me.”

“I can't...”

“You have to! For my children! If I die in this war, you have to promise me that you keep going and put one of my sons on the throne. Keep fighting for them. Promise me, brother, promise me.”

\--

Much, much later, long after he could have truly changed anything about it, Aegor would come to realize that Daemon had only ever meant the twins with it. He had meant Aegon and Aemon, had meant his firstborns. Not any of the others.

Right in that moment though, Aegor only saw the desperate hope in a father's eyes that his death wouldn't throw his family to the snakes.

He saw the fear in his brother's eyes that his death could mean his family's strongest protector would die as well.

So of course there was only one thing he could say.

“I promise.”

They fell into silence, both of them turning now to watch out across the sea until Daemon nudged the taller Aegor with his shoulder.

“Always and forever?”

Aegor lost the fear in his heart and smiled again, dark thoughts chased away when he lightly shoved his brother back.

“Always and forever.”

\--

A century later, a boy of five and ten looked up at another, kneeling on the hard ground of Starfall's Sept, having just made a promise to his brother of not blood but heart.

“Always and forever?” Torrhen wanted to know and still standing with his hand outstretched, Jon smiled bright and relieved and convinced that the words he had just spoken to his best friend had been the right ones.

“Always and forever.”

“_I want the Iron Throne, Torrhen. After the tourney, I want everyone to know that my Father wasn't the Last Dragon and that it won't be me either. I will fight to regain what was taken from my family, I will fight to give the people what they deserve. A King they can look to for protection and help. And you'll be right by my side.”_

\--

All kings in Westeros had had their knights.

But not every king had had that one knight who would have given their all for them.

Not every king had had brother, best friend, greatest fighter and hardest supporter in that one knight.

The Aemon to his Aegon.

The Aegor to his Daemon.

The Duncan to his Aegon.

The Arthur to his Rhaegar.

To Daemon it had simply been one night before a battle that would win him the war or not. To Aegor it had been a night that had changed and shaped his life forever.

And just like that, it had been just a night after they had gotten back from Pentos for Jon, the first time he had spoken the words to his brother. To Torrhen though, it had been a night that had changed everything, shaped a future down to the last detail, written his path down into the books.

The Daemon to his Aegor, the Aegor to his Daemon.

If their fates would be the same, one dead long before his time, one mourning a brother for decades to come, all of that was still written in the stars twinkling in the nightsky over Starfall in that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Twitter, @AugustStories, for updates on writing progress, funny story related notes, questions for you to answer about characters


	7. Rhaena Sand, A Crown of (Un)wanted Attention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me a while this one but there are some things inside that just needed to be done right.
> 
> Also still a pandemic going on and there are still some things related to that which make my life a little more difficult and complicated to plan ahead for long.
> 
> I love all of you and your lovely comment and I hope you will like this chapter.

The sun had barely been up for long when the news of Mace Tyrell's poisoning and his unfortunate passing had crossed over even into the farthest corner of the tourney grounds. The Dornish had already been prepared when the King's men had come to read the statements, Oberyn had immediately informed them upon returning.

Now the tourney had basically been put on hold, the day's events postponed while Kingsguard, Baratheon men, Tyrell men and Redwyne men had joined together in this murder investigation. As shocked as Jon was, as confused as he was over how a Lord Paramount could have been poisoned so easily, he was most of all worried about a friend.

As soon as he had his Pa convinced that he would keep Ghost at his side at all moments, Jon had snuck himself away from an overprotective Torrhen, aware that he would have his ears full of that later on. The Reachers had closed themselves off for the most part, no way in for any outsiders, but Jon was lucky and ran into a tired and pale looking Garlan who took his sympathies with an exhausted grim smile.

“Thank you,” exhaustion spoke from every word and every line of his face. “It hasn't even hit me yet, way too worried about Willas. Renly had my mother, Leonette, my grandmother and my sister brought to Storm's End now, Loras and some of Renly's men are keeping guard.” Garlan explained and Jon frowned because someone very important was missing in that listing. Someone had poisoned and hence murdered a Lord Paramount, the Warden of the South.

And the new Lord of Highgarden should probably not be unaccounted for until the King's men had found the culprit.

“And Willas?” Jon hence wondered, lowering his voice to not garner any attention, a feat already complicated enough with Ghost stuck to his side. The Reachers were staring as they passed by.

“Said he needed some time to _think_ without anyone bothering him.” Garlan tried a tired impression of his brother, looking entirely unimpressed with the whole thing, worried sick about his brother as well, and dead tired on his feet.

“He snuck away?” Jon wanted confirmed, trying to hide his horror at the thought but he imagined Garlan could still see some of it. It didn't sound like Willas at all, but out of character reactions were probably allowed when one's father had just been murdered.

“Our people think he is in his tent and doesn't want to be disturbed.” Garlan told him and Jon blinked at him, tried to comprehend. It was as good a lie as it could be. People would understand that the now new Lord Tyrell would need some alone time to process, maybe they even believed he was privately doing some investigations into his father's death.

Willas' tent, like all of the Tyrell tents, was situated quite at the center of the Reacher corner among the tourney grounds, and no doubt heavily guarded as well. No one would suspect that Willas wasn't inside, let alone believe that someone could get to him unnoticed.

But out somewhere among the tourney grounds? Or even outside of that?

“But in truth he...”

“I have no idea.” Garlan had to confess and they both stopped for a moment when Lysaro rounded the corner of some nearby tents and then approached them upon spotting them talking. “I can't leave here. The King's men are doing their investigations, Renly's men are doing their own investigations, our own people are running around asking questions and searching for clues. Someone of the family has to be here. I hate to ask this but can you see if...” Jon immediately waved the question away, he had come to talk to Willas, he would just search for him now and then make sure that he would be guarded for as long as he wanted to seclude himself.

Ghost could make sure of that without disturbing Willas at all.

“Ghost will find him, no problem,” Jon assured the tired knight now leaning on his sword. He wanted to tell Garlan to get some rest for himself, to let his men and the others involved handle things for a while but he had a feeling it would only reach deaf ears, so he opted for some other form of support. “I got him, Garlan.”

“Thank you, Jon.” Garlan sighed and then gave a very weak smile to Lysaro in greeting as the man came to join them. “Lysaro, thank you for coming so quick. Willas wanted me to ask a favor of you.”

“Of course.”

Jon left them to their business and instead ordered Ghost to find their friend, there was no use in pulling up the hood of his cloak as he slipped back into the crowds. Ghost gave away his identity but he was also the best insurance in not being approached, so Jon had an easy way in letting Ghost guide him.

Right out of the tourney ground borders and into the forest.

Willas had to be mad.

Or just wildly grieving.

It took a bit of time still until Ghost slipped past the treelines onto a meadow and Jon followed him with suppressed curses over thorny bushes. His thoughts stopped though when he looked up and found Willas sitting on the very rocks Jon had been sitting upon a few days earlier as he had told Ser Jaime the truth. Ghost had only led him to this place from another direction. He took a deep breath and let Ghost loop ahead first, startling Willas slightly when he seemingly out of nowhere for him for sure nudged his side and then dropped down over his feet.

Willas threw a look over his shoulder then and met Jon's eyes.

\--

“The King has already decreed that the tourney will not be stopped and will commence after a two day break,” Willas spoke up after a few minutes of silence that had laid heavily over them once Jon had sat down across from him on another boulder. He was staring off towards the distant Storm's End where aside from Garlan his family was residing now. “Which forces my hand in deciding what should be done about my House's attendance. If I leave for Highgarden to bury my father and spent my time grieving my loss in my own home, I have a lesser chance of finding out anything about who did it, and they're gonna have that hanging over my head forever. If I stay and put off my father's proper burial until more has been found out about his murderer, I will be hearing about it from my bannermen until my own deathbed.”

“There is no winning,” Jon summarized it all and Willas nodded, he looked even more tired than Garlan did. Jon put it down to Garlan moving around and keeping his blood up by not giving into exhaustion or the wish for rest. As long as Garlan would have something to do, he would keep going. Willas though had been alone with his thoughts for hours now, and Jon doubted he had slept even a minute since his brother had woken him up to get to their father.

“Right now, I'm working on some kind of compromise but I am dead tired and I don't even know anymore if things are making sense in my own head,” Willas confessed and dragged a hand down his face. “How many times did I write you that I disagreed with a decision by my father, that I hated how he could travel without stop among our bannermen and I was stuck in Highgarden. How I sometimes dreamed of having the freedom to make my own choices without anyone really having a right to force my hand. And now my father is dead, I am Lord and I've never felt this disgusted with myself.”

Willas could do with a dose of Uncle Andric, Jon decided in his head and spent some background thoughts on how he could propose the idea of his friend talking to his uncle.

“Now, no one can dictate me to stay behind anymore. But at what cost? Do I force Garlan now to be the ever patient castellan who never leaves his home except when another grand tourney comes around the corner? Do I call Loras back and make him sit down like an obedient dog? And gods, they're gonna force my hand in finding a wife now for damn sure.” Willas groaned and he was half delirious from lack of sleep and from exhaustion and grief.

Jon knew that Willas had chased away ideas of proposed bethrothals because there had been no rush, his father had not been old and frail, he had two younger brothers, one of whom was already married. Willas had had time and had wanted to find someone he wanted at his side, not someone who simply fit the role of future Lady Tyrell. Jon definitely could agree with that sentiment for sure.

“I'm not terrified of what will come my way now once I'm home again. I've been acting as Lord of Highgarden since basically the day I came off age. I'm prepared. I just had thought I had time still, time to see something else but the Reach, time to see Westeros and gods be wished even some part of Essos. And yes, he surely didn't choose to die but a part of me hates him right now, too. His choices over the years gave him enemies, just because he wanted glory, wanted to always stand on the winning side, instead of just once doing what was right and just.”

Mace Tyrell's actions during the Rebellion had often been the reason on why father and son came to blows. Willas had written plenty about that as well. Mace Tyrell had wanted his House, his family, to become greater, to have their names be known for the history books. He wanted great knights in his sons. He wanted his daughter to be Queen or mother of Queens. He wanted the Tyrells to be applauded for the grandeur of the Reach.

All of those were frustrated lines Jon could recall from several letters.

And well, Mace Tyrell _had_ wanted all of that.

He had.

Now, he was gone and had left his firstborn with a difficult task.

“You know you're not alone, right? You've got friends who are more than willing to help, or just listen,” Jon reminded him and Willas gave a tired smile, red rimmed eyes meeting his for a long moment. “I know that I can't do much in my position, that Vaemon or Lysaro are way more well equipped to help you right now, that you have your brothers of course but I can listen.”

“I know you can,” Willas told him and propped up his chin with one hand, “I've told you before that I can talk to you easier than to those who are calling themselves my friends back home. The only people at home that I can fully trust are Garlan and Leonette. Your letters saved my sanity sometimes, and now I'm thankful, too, that you introduced Vaemon and Lysaro to me. I need to grieve my father now but I also need to look ahead. House Tyrell is in my hands now, and I need to change some things if I don't want to lose my own happiness with life.”

“What do you mean with that?” Jon asked with careful hesitance, apprehension suddenly twisting his gut around. Willas' word sounded a great amount like an abrupt change of course for the Reach, and the question for him was not only what it meant for a friend's standing among his bannermen but also what it would mean for a good friend's view of the still hidden truth about Jon's very being.

Until last night, Jon had been more torn than ever over revealing the true nature of his blood to Willas, but Mace Tyrell's death had changed so much. Willas was no longer just the future of Highgarden, he was Highgarden now. One single night had turned Willas from another Great House's heir among Jon's friends into the Lord Paramount of the Mander and Warden of the South.

“My father, may his soul rest with the Seven now, he turned the Reach into a kind of joke. Who wants the Tyrell as an ally right now?”

Me, Jon thought with an inner frantic laugh, I want you as my ally but I don't know anymore if I can risk telling you.

Willas the heir reacting negatively could have had future consequences, could have had consequences if Mace and old Olenna reacted the same way.

Willas the Warden of the freaking South commanded an army.

“My father is possibly most known for starving Storm's End and House Baratheon,” Willas continued and Jon was stuck to every word now, “and yes, we're on good terms with at least Renly now. But that's not because of my father's actions, it's because of sacrificing Loras to their whims and it thankfully working out well. Too well in some sense. But Stannis Baratheon still hates my family. And my father is also known for turning the Reach against the Targaryens, just because the other side from one moment to the next looked more like winning.”

And suddenly they had reached a territory where Jon hadn't dared to asked questions in before.

“As I've said to you before, I supported that the Mad King had to go,” Willas went on though, never really afraid of offending Jon, or Vaemon in an equal position as a Loyalist child, never hesitant like others might have been. They both knew that though their families stood on different sides in the past, they agreed on a lot of things nowadays. “And yes, Prince Rhaegar's actions were not the best, or the smartest maybe, but,” Willas stopped himself to take a breath and he was working himself into something, Jon was curious over into _what_ it was, “but he didn't deserve to pay the price for the crimes his father committed, he should have been judged for his own mistakes.”

“Robert didn't lead the Rebellion because of what happened to my grandfather, my uncle and the other heirs.” Jon mentioned quietly and Willas nodded in full agreement.

“You know my opinion of Robert Baratheon, but the sentence for supposed kidnapping isn't death.” Willas pointed out and leaned back with his hands propped up against the rock. “A dead Rhaegar Targaryen wasn't what the Seven Kingdoms needed. The Mad King needed to go, doesn't mean the whole line had to be eradicaded. And I've told you before, what was done to Princess Elia and her children was a disgustful crime, and Tywin Lannister should have lost his head way earlier for it.”

“Do you think the realm needs a Targaryen on the throne?” Jon was daring enough to reach for those complicated questions now. If keeping Willas talking helped with the pain of losing his father then he was going to do it no matter what. Torrhen was going to lose it with him later, for sure, to do all of this without having spoken to him first, without him even knowing where Jon was.

Willas was quiet for a moment but he kept his eyes on Jon, so Jon didn't fear he had gone too far with his openness now.

“The Targaryens had one thing the Baratheons don't.” Willas began his answer without directly giving an answer and Jon waited, loosening his shoulders a little again. “They could claim to have united Westeros, to have turned too many kingdoms into The Seven Kingdoms. And then they held it together for almost 300 years, and in all those years their greatest enemies always were themselves. And they still endured. Against civil wars, infighting, brother against brother, bastard rebellions. They remained standing throughout it all. It's something to admire, isn't it? Even in their darkest hour, when they lost their dragons for good, no one could usurp them. Doesn't that mean they did something right?”

Ghost threw a look up towards Jon and Jon wanted to scoff at him.

  
'Yes, I'm hearing it. Yes, I know. I know.'

“Westeros was nothing before Aegon fulfilled a dream. Too many kings on too little ground. Fighting against each other on every border. Entirely helpless if Essos had decided to wage war on them because they would have been too busy deciding who gets to lead the army.” Willas shared his opinion and Jon knew that this was leading up to a moment he didn't want. He didn't want to make that decision without Torrhen but where else could he go from here. Willas deserved time to mourn his father, to come to terms with the burden resting on his shoulders now.

But didn't that also mean that Willas deserved the full truth?

No more secrets for a friend who was laying himself so bare in front of him now?

“They always write that Aegon and his sisters had an easy time conquering Westeros because of their dragons but is that really the whole story? Couldn't it have also been that the people secretly longed for unity?” Willas wanted to know and Jon couldn't help the unusual snort escaping his lips.

“Tell that to the folks who burned in Harrenhall,” he offered up and Willas briefly smiled, “but the North might agree with you.”

“Torrhen Stark kneeling, wasn't a weakness in my eyes. It was a smart move. I think that being a King, or especially being a Lord, it means your own personal pride should become entirely unimportant when it concerns the well-being of your people.” Willas spoke those words without any raised voice, without any grand gestures but they hit home with Jon anyway, they were spoken with conviction. Willas truly believed in it. “Look at Robert Baratheon, nothing is more important to him than his own pride, hence why his hatred of Prince Rhaegar or your father will never lessen in any degree.”

“Yeah, trust me, my Pa is very much aware of that.”

“So, what will he do if that stormcloud from Essos crosses over? I trust Lysaro when he says the sails won't be golden but there are still enough sellsword companies to pose a threat to us.” Willas reminded them both and Jon certainly didn't lose sight of that anymore either. “What will be more important when we're being attacked by foreign armies? His pride? Or having Arthur Dayne fight to protect his people? Having Dorne fight side by side with him? To have the backing of Admiral Velaryon and hence the loyalty of _all_ fleet captains? Will Robert let innocents die just to have the last word? Just to stick it to a dead man?” Willas shook his head, like Vaemon, too, he had lost even more respect for the King since the childish rose crown announcements. “The Targaryens fought a lot, they made their mistakes, they had their monsters but when Westeros was in danger, when even only a part of it was in danger, they got it together and stood strong. For their people.”

“So, if there was one you would argue to put them back on the Iron Throne because they were better for it than Robert or his line could be?”

“Is there something you know that I don't?” Willas flat out asked then and Jon cursed over the blatant confusion in his friend's voice, frantically trying to come to a decision now. “Because the Velaryons don't want it, or else they would have tried something already. Vaemon says it's not where they belong. Lysaro, who has more right to it than anyone could possibly claim,” Jon just so barely could bite away the words, “thinks Westerosi way of living is terrible and doesn't want to become a foreign invader, waving around a flag with his father's stolen birthright. And the little lost Targaryen princess? I know you're Dornish, Jon, and I'm open for changes, but the majority of Westeros is not ready for a Queen in her own right.”

“Okay, let me ask you a slightly different question.” Jon twisted himself out of having to give a response, head spinning, Ghost was watching him with sharp attentive eyes now, just like Willas was. Just for different reasons. “If things had been different, and there would have been a Great Council after the Mad King's death, and the choice would have been between Robert and the young Aegon? Who would you have chosen?”

“Aegon.”

There was no hesitation.

There wasn't even a pause for thinking.

There was just an answer.

Jon couldn't think. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe for a very long moment while Willas simply looked back at him.

The silence went on long enough that Willas saw the need to elaborate, “I would have voted for Aegon. Robert had won a war but he was an irresponsible man who had ignored his duty for years to keep on playing his games. He had fathered bastards already, how they back then thought he was a good idea for kingship is a puzzle to me until this day. Aegon was nothing but a babe in arms, yes, he would have needed a Regent. Which is exactly where the two fractions of the Rebellion could have found their compromises. The Loyalists could get the king, the Rebellion fighters the Regent. Jon Arryn could have become Regent, your uncle could have fulfilled that role. But the Targaryens had the right, that was never taken from them. Robert didn't conquer the throne, he killed the first heir, not the King. Prince Rhaegar had an heir, two heirs even if you counted his brother, the bloodline didn't end with him on the Trident. And the war was over. An infant king with a Regent wouldn't have destroyed the realm. It wasn't 233 AC, and Bittersteel was watching with a sword in hand.”

“Willas...”

And there it was.

Heart pumping.

Mind spinning.

Blood racing.

“There is something I need to tell you.”

Hands sweating.

Shoulders tensing.

Ghost's ears went up.

“It's a terrible choice of timing probably because your father was murdered last night and you should be mourning him. I should listen to you talk about him.”

“Jon, you don't...”

“No,” Jon shook his head and Willas seemingly bit down on his lip to stop, “I need to say this now because if I don't I might regret this for a very long time and the not knowing might hurt more than whatever happens next. So, please, let me talk. Prince Rhaegar's line didn't end when Princess Elia's children were butchered.” Willas froze, from head to toes. Jon took a deep breath, the only protection he had for himself was Ghost. Torrhen was going to be so angry.

Tyene was going to be so pissed.

And he could hear his Pa already, two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, 'of all times to have your mother's the Stranger may care attitude to come through.'

“Rhaegar's line lives on in Lyanna Stark's son.”

“Oh, by the Seven,” Willas dropped his face into his hands and Jon didn't know at all what to make of that, even Ghost twisted around to stare at Willas. “There is so much making sense now.”

Whatever he had been expecting.

It wasn't this.

“The way Vaemon said 'it's not _our_ future'. How Torrhen is swarming around you here like a frigging sworn sword while his own sister flitters away from his eyes seemingly without concern.” Willas looked over to Jon who tried to read his friend's face. “You're more protected than me in this tourney, more than Vaemon or your cousin Robb. And I never even questioned it, probably just put it down to your father's bad history with the king. Rhaegar Targaryen's _son_.”

And then Willas just sat there staring off towards the forest.

“You have to believe me that I have been thinking of telling you for longer already, I just...” Jon struggled for word, trying to twist himself around an explanation that wouldn't sound possibly hurtful. “I just needed to be careful. For my own sake, for my family and my friends. Even now, you knowing, it puts you in so much danger. It was never about not trusting you. It's just that... like you said, Robert still hates the Targaryen and he will keep hating us until he is dead and buried and maybe he'll still hate them in the afterlife. If he finds out the truth, he will...”

“Kill you.Your family and your friends,” Willas effortlessly finished the sentence and as he met Jon's eyes again, Jon was relieved to note that there was no resentment, distrust or anger portrayed in Willas' eyes. They remained gentle and understanding, sad and tired of course still. “Jon, I'll never betray this trust. This secret is safe with me.” Jon gave himself a moment to nod and just breathe, to realize that the risk had paid out.

Torrhen was still going to murder him but they could deal with that later.

“I won't breathe a word to anyone about this,” Willas promised and at their feet Ghost relaxed as well again, going straight to napping. “At least not to anyone who doesn't know. I take it I can be open about this to Vaemon and Lysaro?”

“Yes, they know,” Jon confirmed for him and could see how Willas' shoulders loosened again a little, he let himself relax a little more as well. “As does basically all of Dorne, the Velaryons. Anyone who is directly related to me and old enough to understand that keeping this secret is necessary.” The being old enough bit was still something he was very concerned with, little children just sometimes talked too much and couldn't understand yet that some things just couldn't be talked about with with other people. Out of his Northern cousins, only Robb and Sansa knew by now, and Sansa even only because Rhaena had insisted back when they had been in Winterfell.

Arya would soon learn about it as well, but also only because she was going to accompany them back to Dorne and wouldn't go back North again.

“Why are you telling me now?” Willas wanted to know when it sank in and Jon shifted a little because the timing had truly sucked. “Forget the timing and my father's death, right now I'm just happy to think about something else for the moment. Why tell me during the biggest tourney we've had since before you were born? Why not later, why not wait until I visit you and we'll see each other in a more private surrounding?” Why not wait until we aren't surrounded by an army of people who would kill you if they knew the truth, that was the real question that Jon's ears heard out of it.

And the answer to it was simple.

“Because when this tourney is over,” Jon started to respond and straightened up, he didn't want to hide over this anymore, he didn't want to hide parts of himself anymore, “I will step onto a path. A path that will ensure that within a year even the people in Volantis will know that Rhaegar Targaryen's second trueborn son wants what was taken from his brother.” From his whole family really, but Jon would continously work on not phrasing it like that, on having people phrase it differently. He wanted to remind people what had been done to an infant boy who had been the rightful king.

He would remind them daily on what had been done and taken from his brother.

“You know that I can't say I'm with you,” Willas didn't surprise him with his next words and it wasn't at all what Jon had wanted from telling him the truth. He had just wanted to no longer hang onto this secret with a good friend, a good friend who was going through hell now. But Willas also wasn't done talking, “I have too much under my responsibility now to swear my loyalty, even though my heart and my head might want it. My allegiance means the allegiance of the Reach as well.”

“I know,” Jon interrupted him fast, shaking his head rather too much, “I know and I understand. I would never ask that of you.” It hadn't been his intention or even something he would have fished for, Willas needed to find his footing before they could even dream about having a talk like that, he couldn't become a Lord and Warden with loyalties already made before his people could have a say in it.

“I will keep your secret though,” Willas promised and Jon smiled at him, especially when Ghost rather greedily leaned into the hand that came down to pet him now. There was only truth speaking from Willas. “And in a few moons, once you made that step, once I made my first steps in what I want changed in my own house, then we'll talk again.”

“Thank you, it means a lot to me.”

“Anything else I should know before we walk back into the hornet's nest and too many people will need me to answer questions I have no answers for?” Willas asked him and visibly took a few deep breaths, he wasn't alright by a long shot but Jon was glad he had risked it anyway. Willas seemed calmer again, setting his mind to different things even for a little bit of time had helped.

“One small thing. Big thing.” Jon had to correct himself immediately because describing Starfyre as a small thing hadn't been true anymore even long before he had visited Willas in Highgarden for the first time. “Actually, it's probably one very big thing and two still small things by now.” He had to grin over his own stupid joke, Sonara and Rhaegal were growing day by day and because of Sonara's temper they had already been rehoused to the tower ruins.

“I'm not following.”

“There are dragons.”

\--

Two pair of hands seized him and it was like being back in King's Landing when he still had a real purpose in his life and something to look forward to. Protecting the Princess kept him busy and she had endeared herself quickly to his bitter heart, but he had been handling the affairs of the Seven Kingdoms once while supporting secret plans for a Rebellion, his mind wasn't at full capacity anymore.

Neither of the two men who pulled him away from where he had been reading alone in the Essosi corner of the tourney grounds stopped their lively conversation. Aurane and Jace were arguing over something Griff couldn't quite catch while he tried to not stumble over his feet at their frantic pace. It hadn't been Aurane and his brother who had been the culprits of dragging Griff away from his business to attend whatever spontaneous meetings Rhaegar had managed to squeeze into his shedule again but it had been Aurane and Oswell, who in some parts had been very similar to Jace.

Equally annoying anyway.

He got pushed into a tent, judging by the colors it had to be Jace's own, and then quite unceremoniously let go of again. He whirled around and brushed down his sleeves, angrily glaring at either silverblond head.

“Have you no manners left? Treating a man like a horse led to the smith,” he furiously demanded from them and Aurane bristled but surprisingly kept his tongue in check. A matter of impossibility back in the day, that kid had always been talking back at everyone.

“You need to leave”, it was Jace who spoke up and Griff turned his glare on him. “With this investigation into Mace Tyrell's death, they are looking into everyone attending this tourney.” That was only stating the obvious. “You need to leave, Griff.”

“Are you telling me you think I did something to him?” Griff snapped back at him, blood curdling in his anger over the audacity they had in blaming this murder on him. What would he gain from killing the damn rose lord. Mace Tyrell stabbed a knife in the backs of all Targaryens, all Loyalists really, towards the end of the Rebellion but Griff had too little time left in his life to harbor revenge against everyone who turned their back on a cause that had ruled his entire life. “That is...”

“No,” Jace quickly intervened and waved a hand in his little brother's direction who had wanted to speak up as well. “I don't think you got anything to do with this but they're gonna look closer at **everyone** now. Maegor and Lysaro already send half their guards to pack, it's just safer, Griff.” Jace argued and walked over to a table in the corner, picking up a piece of leather string to tie back his hair.

“For you. For Jon. For all of us,” Aurane unnecessarily added still and Griff huffed at him. As much as Arthur and him had continously disagreed in the past, Aurane and him had disliked each other so much that they hadn't even interacted enough to get to that point. Aurane had wanted to snatch Arthur away from Rhaegar, he had been obnoxious and so self assured over who he had been and what he had wanted, it had rubbed Griff completely the wrong way. For so many reasons. Regardless of the fact that Aurane's not secret desires could have worked out well for Griff, if only he had wanted to see Rhaegar hurt while he himself got what he wanted.

“You want me to crawl back into my hole and hide like some coward?” He demanded now and saw just in time how Jace made some cut off gestures when Aurane opened his lips again.

“It won't be for long,” the older of the reckless two tried to bring the tone down to a normal level again but Griff was done. He had spent enough years hiding himself away, in Pentos, in Tyrosh, in Volantis. He had hidden himself away at a bottom of a bottle. He wouldn't do it again, never. “Leave with the company men, or get yourself a horse and make for Summerhall. Wait for us there. But you can't stay here.”

“Fine,” Griff decided and made three quick steps to get around Aurane and closer to the tent flaps, “fine. I'll be gone before the day is out.”

The day would come where he could seek out some justice, until then he would hide again.

\--

“Bad to say maybe,” Aurane muttered as he watched Connington walk off in a huff, “but is this how I could have ended up, too? Bitter, angry, living in the past, striving for things that are no longer there.” He shook his head and then turned back around to step further back into his brother's tent, “the man needs a purpose that goes beyond watching over a little girl.”

“Aye, he needs a purpose,” Jace agreed with him and began to look for a bottle of wine, “and I'm sure Jon will find something for him to do in due time. We have something else to think about now, have you talked to Arthur? Because Corlyn's opinion was clear as day, he's sought out Stannis now.”

“Arthur and I agree,” Aurane began and dropped himself down on a chair, “who the hells kills a Lord Paramount under the eyes of the _entire_ kingdom being present in one place?” He wanted to know and though he would have wished for it, he could see that his brother didn't look as shocked as most others here were. It was one of the things that made their bond different now, Jace had seen a lot of things in Essos that were so utterly strange and horrifying to Westerosi.

“Someone daring”, Jace concluded and handed Aurane a wine cup, “someone who had nothing to lose. Or a remarkably easy time in reaching Lord Tyrell.” Jace drew the picture and sat down himself, he was utterly calm whereas Aurane was frayed with nerves.

It was why Arthur and him had chosen to part ways for at least a couple of hours. They were driving each other mad in their nervousness and were trying hard not to worry too much over Jon who had gone off to talk to Willas. Arthur had gone to stick with Elion, Aurane had looked for his brothers but had found only one. And for the first time in maybe ever, he would have actually preferred Corlyn.

“You think the poison came from their own people?” He asked Jace who shrugged his shoulders at first, Corlyn might have been better to talk to about this. He knew the Lords and Ladies of today better than Jace, he knew where strings were pulled and why. Jace had grown into a man in a culture where slaves were being kept and sold, where gold dictated hierarchy, where power and reputation could be bought like apples on a market. With a few exceptions, names didn't mean anything in Essos, only gold and strength did.

Jace's views had suffered a bit after more than a decade under golden banners.

“Bit remarkable how easy it was, huh? No one has any idea, no one is pointing fingers, so far at least.” Jace showed once more that he was used to people carrying their true opinions, loyalties and strengths on their open palms, for everyone to see. No Westerosi did so, everything was always hidden, not talked about, if at all only hinted at, even the arguably still slightly naïve Ned Stark had understood that game by now. “Lord Tyrell walked surrounded by guards everywhere, not because he was so threatened but because he liked the message it sent, am I wrong?”

“No, you're not.”

“So, there we go,” Jace pointed out and emptied his cup of wine, “none of his guards got harmed, so this one intent to kill Lord Tyrell was either a genius or they simply knew when Lord Tyrell was the most vulnerable, the most reachable.” It was all logical but it left Aurane with a bad feeling in his gut because if the Tyrells were really that vulnerable and their flanks left so open, there was more at stake now than just justice for a cowardic murder.

“You don't think that Lord Willas is in danger, now, do you? Because the kid is good,” Aurane mentioned and he knew perfectly well that Willas Tyrell wasn't a kid anymore. He was a decade older than Jon, he was several years older than Vaemon and Lysaro but those four had become friends. Aurane didn't want to see any of them harmed. “He is one of only a small number of heirs who were old enough to understand what went wrong in the Rebellion, Jon needs allies and friends around himself like Willas Tyrell.” Jon needed friends who could not only keep up with his quick wit and his never stopping thoughts, who could hold up in arguments with him, but also shared his interests and his ideas.

“No,” Jace shook his head though and set his cup down again, “I don't think that Willas is in danger. I actually have the feeling this might have been the intention after all.” The words were spoken and Aurane winced, though he couldn't fault his brother for that direction of thoughts, he had for a split moment thought the same when Arthur and him had been informed over what had happened. It was a sickening thought but one that Aurane wasn't unconvinced off. Olenna Tyrell had always shown that she was willing to step over a lot of things to get to where she wanted her family to stand, corpses included, Aurane just wouldn't have thought the old rose was cold enough to let one of those corpses be her only son.

The late Lord Luthor Tyrell wouldn't have stood for that, the man might have not been the smartest but at least he hadn't been ruthless.

The only House that had gotten away with proven non-accidental kinslaying had been the Targaryens, back when they still had dragons and too many branches to not get in trouble with each other.

But now?

“Get rid of Mace to set Willas in charge?”

“And like that achieve that the Reach stops being a joke.” Jace made short work of the supposed justification one could have needed for murdering their own bloody son. Like there could ever be a justification aside from maybe 'he was a fucking mad man and lives were at stake.'

“Are you insinuating that this was kinslaying?” Aurane wanted it confirmed because yes, Jace was absolutely right with his statement. Willas would lead the Reach better than his father had, better than his grandfather had.

“Not kinslaying, but someone close to the family maybe. We've seen more surprising twists.”

True.

Aurane was also absolutely done with more surprising twists.

He was very much voting for a smooth Targaryen restauration and the next time he needed some brotherly comfort and conversation, he was definitely going to find Corlyn.

\--

In the meantime, as Aurane and Jace parted ways again to go about their days, as Jon kept Willas company and talked about real dragons, Tyene had found herself a companion who was just as intent as her to find out more about the intrigue of the mystery squire from the Vale. As much as she had her tricks and her way of finding out things that others couldn't, Vaemon held the advantage over her skills in this area they were in here with this tourney.

If anyone recognized her, they recognized her as one of Prince Oberyn's bastard daughters and those Andals held no regards for bastards. No one was going to take her seriously at first sight, something that had its good moments, too, but not where she needed to dig in now. Vaemon on the other side opened doors that would have been barred to her, Corlyn Velaryon had created himself the reputation of a master mind, the puppet player who held the Small Council in a chokehold.

Tyene didn't know if Lord Corlyn had ever actively been aware of the gaping hole of power that the fall of Tywin Lannister had left behind in the game that ruled over Westeros. Lord Corlyn had not only stepped into that hole but filled it perfectly, turned the wickedness of it into his own very sharp tool. Like the old Lion as well, Lord Corlyn wasn't a man you crossed more than once, he played for justice, held dozens of strings of once in his hands.

Effortlessly.

He was very much instrumental in the path that Jon had set in front of them now.

And Vaemon already held himself as a worthy successor.

“This would have all been easier to achieve before Lord Tyrell's death,” Vaemon grumbled when they had to make another detour because Kingsguard members were once more directing people away from whatever investigations were going on. Tyene was surprised there weren't fingers pointed yet, because she had a good enough idea that those fingers would point to Dorne. Just because. “I could have asked Adrian for a favor, to simply look into the lists. No one would have dared question a Kingsguard.”

Now, they couldn't talk to the half-brother of Vaemon's lady mother, for the same reason on why Ashara couldn't ask Ser Barristan for that small favor. The Kingsguard was busy.

“You got any theories over who could have done it?” She asked, her arm around his because like most boys in Jon's inner circle, Vaemon was a decently raised young Lordling to be and always acted on his best behavior. He wasn't her favourite per se, Lysaro had turned out far more entertaining and fun, and Vaemon was married anyway.

“Wouldn't surprise me if it turns out that no suspect can be found and the investigation has to run into the sand,” Vaemon began and looked around, “only for us to find out years later that the old harpy did it to finally get someone in charge of the Reach who is capable.”

“You think that someone in their own family did it?” Tyene wanted to know and lowered her voice because the last thing they needed now was to draw attention. Vaemon shrugged at first and threw a look around, turning her left to evade another group of Baratheon cloaked guards questioning some people. Vaemon didn't talk until they had some space around them.

“Little dip of poison here, timely delay there,” Vaemon said it so non-chalant that Tyene felt some shiver ghosting over her back, and she wondered not for the first time how someone could have ever thought Lord Corlyn and his family to be prude and boring.

It was true that Captain Jacaerys and Aurane were far more outgoing and loudmouthed but the stuff coming from Lord Corlyn's lips and those of his firstborn son were more ruthless by far. Vaemon didn't even look like he was so deeply bothered by proposing the idea of kinslaying.

“That's gruesome,” Tyene commented because someone had to, Vaemon glanced down at her and she knew what he was going to say even before he had opened his mouth.

“Says the right one.”

“I never _killed_ anyone,” Tyene emphasized it greatly because despite what people seemed to assume over her father and his older daughters, it just wasn't the truth. Her father would kill for family, that was true, but only as the last means. Obara and Nym were capable of it as well, Tyene had no doubts there, but they too would only seek death if it was justified. And she herself didn't think she was capable of going so far. Poison was the woman's way, they say, but Tyene also thought it a little cowardic for murder. “The worst I've ever done is given someone the shits.”

“I'm just saying,” Vaemon argued and tugged her right, a path that would bring them to the training yard, “little bit surprising that Willas is allowed to remain in his tent unwatched while the rest of the family was immediately brought to Storm's End, isn't it?” He asked her with a deadpanning look because they both knew perfectly well that Willas wasn't in his tent. “Shouldn't the majority of the protection and attention center down on the heir after the Warden of the South just got poisoned?”

“You may have a point there.”

“Come on, let's see if we can find that squire who is terrified of Torrhen, maybe he can get us a peak into that damn list.” Vaemon grumbled and then steered her in the direction of the boys polishing armor and knives in the royal corner of the trainings yard. Tyene chose to let him do the talking and instead let her mind and thoughts wander. Something smelt foul over this tourney.

Robert Baratheon's burning desire to see Arthur humiliated.

The mystery squire fittingly announced so close after the flower crown changes.

And now Lord Mace's murder not even long after that.

Someone really wanted to cause havoc.

\--

“Where the fuck have you been?”

Jon closed the tent flaps with one hand and used the other to smother his knowing grin as he turned around to face Torrhen who was glowering at him, hands propped up against his hips.

“Does everyone think it's hilarious now to go off alone without telling me? And where is Ghost? Arthur told me he was with you!”

Jon rolled his eyes and walked over to his bed to take off his cloak, it had gotten warmer while he had talked with Willas, which was where he had left Ghost as well, to watch over Willas while his friend kept on grieving in privacy. And probably while he worked through some new reveals as well.

“Hello? Standing here? Going mad with worry because my best friend and my sister think it is absolutely hilarious to go off on their fucking own without being bloody guarded!”

Alright, explain away first, and ask about Rhaena later, Jon decided and gestured for Torrhen to sit down, he would only fall over if not.

“I told Willas the truth.”

“You did fucking **what**?”

This was not going to become Torrhen's favourite day.

\--

Across the tourney grounds, for once unaccompanied by anyone because she had slipped away early enough, Rhaena was walking along the booths of the Essosi traders who had come to offer up their stock. She was very much aware that she was going to pay for sneaking off later on, her mother, her father and her uncles no doubt having had time until then to prepare a whole speech. Torrhen would grow purple in anger again and be pissed at her for hours, she knew the drill already.

But sometimes she just needed to be alone with her thoughts and silence was the last thing she needed then. Rhaena needed the hustle of people and noises around her when she wanted to sort her thoughts out and figure out what her mind was struggling with. As sweet and usually unnoticeable as Holden was, sometimes Rhaena just needed to get away and do something that surely classified as stupid.

Like wandering the tourney grounds alone as Ashara Dayne's bastard daughter.

She had dressed herself in Velaryon colors though, as much as she knew that being recognized as a Dayne and hence Arthur Dayne's niece and Torrhen Sand's sister, these people here reacted a little more abashed to recognizing her as Captain Jacaerys' daughter and Lord Corlyn's niece and that was what she wanted to play with.

And fortunately, it drew the attention of someone interesting as well.

“I wouldn't have thought to find you walking alone.”

She turned to her left and couldn't resist the little smile curling up her lips when she found herself being watched by the blue eyed stranger who was apparently a squire from the Vale if his presence on the trainings yard had anything to say. He wore good if rather plain clothing fit for a squire, Rhaena didn't recognize the crest on it, the Vale had never been to any interest of hers.

“Why,” she wanted to know and abandoned her looking through the pearls of the Summer Islander booth, turning her whole body to face this boy who had gifted Elia and her flowers before. Who had been so charming and not hesitant in approaching her. “Because maidens aren't supposed to walk alone? I'm not a dog on a leash, I am perfectly capable of defending myself or calling for help. Believe me, my father and my uncles took great care in assuring that.”

And Tyene and Nym had shown her how to hide knives below dresses.

“Oh, I know who you are,” this boy told her though and his grin was bright and big, something twinkling in his eyes that were centered all on her. He was older than her, around Jon's or Torrhen's age perhaps. And though his mousy brown hair really didn't let him stick out, there was something about him that almost intrigued her. “And suffice it to say, I wouldn't consider you helpless in any situation.”

“Didn't know my family was a topic in the Vale.” Rhaena held against his words and ticked up an eyebrow, daring him to say the wrong thing. If there was one thing she could act out brilliantly, it was throwing a scene. She had grown up with Torrhen as her brother, after all, she had needed to find a way to gain attention in the shadow of his bright light.

“You'd be surprised,” the nameless boy smiled and he looked like he was enjoying himself greatly, like there was some kind of inside joke he was laughing immensely about on the inside.

“I don't like to be surprised”, she cut through his smile, regardless of how pretty it was, she wasn't the kind who got herself swept away by one smile and one act of kindness. “Surprises haven't brought my family much luck in recent years.” He winced and Rhaena took it with satisfaction.

“You should give it a chance once in a while, you might end up liking uncertainties.” Pretty boy offered up and his smile brightened even further, Rhaena just so kept herself from snorting, as if her life needed even more uncertainty right now. Jon and that floating decision over all of their heads was more than enough for her. “It can make life exciting.”

'I have a dragon, my life is certainly more exciting than yours.'

“I don't know,” she of course couldn't say what she wanted to say and shifted her weight from one leg to the other, it made the color of her dress shine in the sunlight, and as wanted it drew pretty boy's eyes to the sigil she carried on the shawl that aunt Justine had made for her. A quartered crest of the Velaryon seahorse and the Dayne's fallen star. “You ever been to Dorne? Maybe you simply don't understand how excitement looks like for us.”

“Maybe I would have to find out,” pretty boy held right up with her and on the inside Rhaena groaned, he seemed to have an answer for everything, it was annoying and intriguing at the same time. “My mother used to tell me that exquisite beauty can be found in Dorne.”

What a weird response.

What mothers told their children in the Vale about the exquisite beauty of Dorne? Weren't they more inclined to paint a picture about debauchery and sin?

“You think you're quite charming, huh?” She tried it with a different approach, letting a little sarcasm slip into her voice. He laughed, all with pinched eyes and head thrown back for a moment and Rhaena cursed herself because he was starting to draw her in.

“You're still listening, aren't you? Has to work a little at least,” he confessed to her and Rhaena didn't want to give it to him but she smiled because it was the truth, wasn't it.

“Wow, you are really full of it.”

“And yet, here you remain standing,” he said with a grin that turned a little more genuine when he revealed his left hand that had been hidden behind his back until then. And within said hand he held a bunch of flowers again, clumsily wrapped together with some bow in purple. “For you,” he added as he stretched them out towards her as if the gesture could be read in any other way.

Rhaena blinked at the flowers, they were beautiful, white and red and yellow, the colors vibrant and the petals so big and wonderful. And then she blinked at this boy, whose name she still didn't even know, whereas he seemed to know exactly who she was. For the second time now he had gifted her flowers and no boy did that without intentions, not even Jon would give some random girl flowers twice.

This was stuff that Uncle Arthur might have done when he had been a boy still but he had been kinder than any other boy who had ever lived according to Rhaena's mother and on top of it Uncle Arthur hadn't been interested in girls at this age. This boy, this stranger, he was too confident and too syrupy to be anything like her uncle.

This boy was more like her brother, being all nice and charming to get under a girl's skirt.

But despite all those thoughts she took the flowers anyway, they were beautiful, they were a gift and they were intended for her. And Rhaena would never say no to them, even though she was definitely going to remain suspicious.

And someone else as well it seemed.

Because just as she curled her hand around the stems of the flowers and this boy let go of them, something warm and furry brushed against her side and Rhaena was just off present mind enough to quickly reach out and wrap a warning hand into the scruff on Shadow's neck.

“Stop,” she snapped and the wolf did in fact listen to her, stopping in his advancing of her conversation partner, but he didn't cease the growling or the flashed teeth. “Cut it out, Shadow.” Her order was ignored though, as much as Ghost liked to listen to everyone in the family and usually followed their words as well, Shadow did only what Torrhen told him, if even that. He was the alpha of the pack and he knew that he had only one thing to fear in Starfall and those were the dragons.

And their fire.

With Sonara and Rhaegal, it was only their fire still, their strength no match yet for the all black wolf. Starfyre would be another story there.

“I believe this is my cue to go,” Rhaena smiled at the brunet boy in apology, as annoying as his confidence could be, she had enjoyed talking to him a little at least. The boy gave her a quick look but then focused back on the wolf on the prowl, he looked slightly alarmed but she couldn't believe that he hadn't seen them around the tourney yet. He would have been incredibly blind or very hidden. Shadow and Ghost were seemingly always where Torrhen and Jon were, Nymeria always followed Arya, Greywind was either with Robb or guarding Alys. “And if this was your sweet way of asking for my favor for the squire joust then I have to say I'm sorry but I've already given mine to my cousin.”

Jon wouldn't crown her if he won but by giving him her favor she had saved him from being approached by other girls and stumbling over awkward excuses. Tyene had done the same.

“Understood,” the stranger boy mentioned and then bowed to her, “I'll see you around.” And with another look thrown in Shadow's direction, he was hurriedly leaving. Rhaena huffed and leaned in to smell the flowers, letting go of Shadow in the process. “He's annoying and sweet. I wonder how many girls thought that of my father back in the day.” Shadow chuffed and then nudged her, “yeah, I'm coming. Let's face the stupid brother.”

Shadow made quick work of leading her back to the Dornish camp and the Dayne tents, not letting her linger anywhere for even a moment. And Rhaena hadn't even made three steps past Uncle Andric standing outside his tent with Edric before Torrhen was already storming out of his tent, eyes glowing and glowering, Jon following calmer.

“Where were you? Did you meet this boy again? Is it him who gave you those flowers? Do you have any idea what could happen?”

Rhaena sighed, 'here we go,' and glanced over Torrhen's right shoulder to meet Jon's eyes but he was frowning at the flowers in her hands.

\--

“When we arrive back in Highgarden after this tourney, you will be given just enough time to pack your belongings. I will have a carriage ready before the day will be out and you will leave without speaking to anyone. The carriage will drive you to the motherhouse without any wayward stops.”

Willas clenched his fingers around the bottle of wine that he had no real intentions to break in tonight, it was a Dornish Red, Oberyn had given it to him as a gift at the beginning of this tourney. This ill fated tourney. It could have been truly great, it could have been full of chances and promises, especially after Jon's revelation in secret to him. This could have been a real chance for them to gain back respect.

Instead of laughter.

But one couldn't even trust family with that simple concept anymore.

He didn't want to show anger, even if he was filled to the brink with it for some hours now already. He would remain level headed, he would remain calm. He was no longer Willas who played at being Lord, he was the Lord of Highgarden now, and since the King's hurried blessing a good hour ago, he was Warden of the South now as well. There was no one in the Reach who had a right to stand above him now, no one who could dare and tell him he was only a boy still.

“Your guards will be dismissed as of right now, Garlan is already acting out my orders. They will be set under house arrest and won't be allowed to leave the Arbor until after I have made up my mind over what could be done with them. My current line of thought will have them shipped North, I've had plenty of conversations with Starks during this tourney and Wynafryd Velaryon as well gave me a very good insight into how things are still handled up there. The Wall will always need men.”

He didn't glance into the direction of the occupied chair in the right back corner of his tent, he was too disgusted and too ashamed over the actions that had led to his father's death. Too ashamed over knowing that he would have to spent his life covering up for his family, that no one could ever find out the truth, that this royal investigation would have to be led into the sand below the cliffs of Storm's End.

“You will be accompanied to the gates of the motherhouse by people I will have personally chosen, and don't believe those will be attentive to any of your dirty tricks.” He forced the words out between gritted teeth.”I've already thought over the possibility of asking Prince Oberyn or Lord Dayne if they have some men they can spare. You will not be leaving that motherhouse again until the day you die.”

Having been silent until now the presence in his tent chose to speak up now after all.

“I did what needed to be done.”

“No,” Willas said and whirled around at the same moment, hands curled into fists, blood pumping in his veins. “No, you did not.” And he looked into the suddenly so cold seeming eyes of his grandmother and knew that she wouldn't show regret until the day she did in fact die. “You killed your son. You killed my father. Your games are over. And before you can think that your strings on Margaery will hold, I will disappoint you there as well. I will be sending her to be fostered, outside of the Reach and you will not learn where. This is where the road ends for you.”

\--

**Two days later**

\--

“Are you here to give me the 'I'm so proud' speech?”

Arthur laughed and pushed himself off the beam he had been leaning against and watching Jon prepare Dalia for the next rounds of the squire joust. The squire rounds always went quicker than the champion ones, the boys usually lacked experience still and didn't have the strength yet so most rounds were decided after one or two lances.

Jon had so far made clean work of his opponents and was using the midday break now to take care of preparing Dalia, one of the two horses he had brought to the Stormlands. Nion had done him well but as Arthur knew his son Jon would prefer the calmer and older Dalia as the jousting took up more speed.

“I can give you the 'I'm so proud' speech any day,” Arthur also mentioned and stretched out a hand to greet the brown mare and stroke over her neck, “but I was rather thinking we could go over the competition.”

“Domeric is really gonna be difficult to beat,” Jon swept himself right into it and got the saddle in place, glancing over to Arthur as he went on, “he hasn't needed more than one lance in every round he's ridden in so far. Then there is Willas' brother Loras but, as mean as it might be to say it, he's more of a peacock than an actual skilled rider. The boy from Lannisport...”

“Jaime's squire is indeed quite the skilled rider but he is younger than you still,” Arthur gave his input and watched how Jon turned to put his full attention on him, “he lacks strength and indurance. He will grow tired soon. You shouldn't underestimate Perros and you shouldn't write off the Mooton kid either. Never underestimate Mootons, Jon, they look like meek sheep but they always have a fire driving them on.”

Myles had been like that. Myles had loved it when someone had not seen how strong he really was, how quick and smart. People had seen this quiet meek boy, had not ever considered how bold, brass and dirty he could act.

“And then...” Jon's face darkened and Arthur knew the topic that was to come, so he glanced left and right outside the box and nodded when he could be sure that they were in fact still alone. “Well, then there is _him_.” Him meaning the boy from the Vale, this boy where no one knew where he might have come from. This mystery squire. Arthur's guts were all up in twists about it, and though there weren't any self-made crests and the boy was riding under the sigils of the Gates of the Moon, something just felt off.

Supported only by the overall confusion that seemed thick among the stands whenever this boy was going for another round.

He was good.

And that was the next problem or cause for even more confusion, a boy with no last name usually meant smallfolk. Now, Arthur didn't see anything wrong in a knight – as atypical as it might seem for a renowned Knight of the Vale to not take a highborn squire – taking a smallfolk boy as a squire because skills were seen and decided to be worth encouraging. But there just was something off about the whole thing.

“He acts way too noble to be a smallfolk kid,” Jon put it into words and pushed a hand through his hair, “his manners, his bearings. Edric says the way he speaks is just simply not something a boy could have learned in three years only. Also, I'm sorry, but was I misinformed? The Vale had issues with starving smallfolk for up to seven years now. Does that boy look like he has ever lacked food?”

“No, he doesn't,” Arthur had to agree with all of what his son had said, it was all true, “but you shouldn't occupy your head with all these puzzles. Concentrate on your opponent's skill. The rest we can figure out later, or let other people take care off.”

Jon nodded and Arthur had no doubts that Jon was getting well informed over whatever discoveries Tyene was making in the shadows.

“Speaking of things to take care of later,” he changed the topic slightly then and Jon looked at him again, pausing in finishing up the saddling. “It was quite a risk to tell Willas. And though it played out thankfully, I can't say that I would be happy over seeing you turn reckless suddenly.”

“I'm not going to turn reckless,” Jon reassured him and ducked his head for a moment like the boy he could sometimes still be. “I'm not regretting what I did but I also don't know where it came from. I just needed to do it. Willas deserved the truth. He feels deceived enough already anyway by people and his father just got murdered, Pa.”

“Nevertheless, it was a risk. And you took it without informing anyone beforehand. Not even Torrhen. Jon, I don't have to tell you again how quickly things can change, do I?” Arthur knew it was maybe a bit unfair but his worries were through the roof and if Jon had decided now of all times to start acting like his mother and his father at his most inconvenient times Arthur was gonna go gray over night. “Willas is your friend, and I understand that it feels rough to have had him not be in the know while you could talk to Vaemon about everything, but the Reach is not our friend.”

“I wasn't doing it to make allies, I was only finally telling the truth to a friend,” Jon argued and Arthur hated himself for what he had to say next but it needed to be done.

“Son, I understand. Believe me, I do, but when it comes to people outside our family and especially people outside of Dorne, you have to be careful. Now more than ever before. I know where your head is, Jon,” Arthur said and Jon blinked at him before he bit his lips, “and you of all people have to understand how thin the line between friend and enemy can be sometimes, and how quickly it can be flipped upside down.”

“Willas wouldn't...”

“Your father once thought that about Tywin Lannister. He thought the same about Mace Tyrell.” Arthur listed it down and squeezed Jon's shoulder to show he wasn't truly angry, just wanting to talk about it. “And I once thought that Barristan wouldn't bend and stop fighting as long as Rhaegar's line still stood but it happened. People show their true colors under pressure, and sometimes they make choices that don't stand with who they were before. War changes people, Jon. It brings out the best in some and the worst in more. Promise me that you keep being careful.”

“You know that I will, and Torrhen has already gone off enough about it,” Jon admitted in a grouchy tone and Arthur smiled, just as Edric appeared next to him.

“Alright then, I can't give you any advice on Domeric. The kid seems born on a horse but he started in another group, just like the Vale kid, you won't have to figure them out until the final rounds.” Arthur focused back on track and Jon handed Dalia's reins over Edric. “Loras Tyrell is indeed more peacocking than actual focusing on the task at hand, use that to your advantage. Perros took a fall earlier, focus on his right shoulder. And I don't know... good luck with the Mooton kid.”

“Thanks, Pa,” Jon took that last piece of advice in with an eye roll and Arthur laughed, ruffling the hair of both boys before he made his way back to the Dornish stands.

Thinking about one of the last lessons a parent had to learn about raising their children, at the end of the day your children were their own person and they did what they wanted and not always what you thought to be best for them.

\--

Despite having had great doubts about the idea of it at the start of the day, Jon managed to make it into the final tilt and was up for a potential victory and a damned flower crown.

Unfortunately, his opponent was the boy from the Vale who lacked a last name.

The boy they all called a mystery squire.

In the second to last round, Domeric had been defeated by the Vale boy after four broken lances while Jon had gained the upper hand against Olyvar Mooton after six. He had gone way further than he had believed himself to be capable and now so close to actually winning the damn squire event, he had to be facing this darned Vale boy.

“Any last advice,” he asked Edric as he got ready on his side, “you were able to watch him more closely with Domeric than me.”

“He's good,” Edric began with apologies written all over his face, “he is really good. He hasn't so much as even briefly lost his balance yet. I really don't know what to tell you, Jon.” Jon turned to Domeric who was rubbing his left thigh and who shrugged as well, having been going up against the Vale boy just previous to this, Jon had hoped for some tips there.

“He really is something, Jon, I don't know what to tell you. You have to get lucky to get him off that horse.”

Great.

Get lucky.

Didn't Jon love the odds of 'get lucky'.

“He's cocky, too,” Domeric mentioned and took ahold of Jon's lance so he could get up into the saddle without poking out an eye. “Prepare for some words or a smirk. Keep focused, don't let him distract you. Best strategy in my opinion is to keep being defensive until he makes a mistake but you saw the good it did me. I am wishing you all the good luck you can get, I don't want him to win. There is something foul about him.”

“Don't have to tell me twice,” Jon answered him and then nodded to both boys before he took his lance back and urged Dalia out of the preparation area. Torrhen was leaning on the fence that closed off the jousting lanes during round changes, Jon glanced down at him when he brought Dalia to a stop.

“Any words from you still?”

“Don't get hurt,” Torrhen grouched, eyes set on the other end of the two lanes where the brown haired boy from the Vale was getting ready. “Stay defensive until his ego lets him make a mistake.” Torrhen gave him practically the same advice that Domeric had given him as well. Jon nodded and then took one last deep breath, moving Dalia into position and flipping down the visor on his helmet.

Here went nothing.

The signal came and he let Dalia run, drowning out the world around himself and focusing only on the target coming his way. His lance got a hit in but broke because of the pressure, and because Jon was likewise hit. Hard. Right against the upper arm and it had to have been on full purpose because that was exactly the point the Mooton kid had zeroed in on and nearly gotten Jon off his horse with. He wavered but remained in the saddle, Dalia a calm support.

Jon cursed silently, got himself another lance and took another deep breath.

Add asshole to idiot.

–

The show went on.

Round by round.

Lance for lance.

\--

“He is stronger than me.”

“You're the better rider, Jon, and your horse is less nervous.”

“What good does that get me if he hits harder! Who is this boy?!”

“Keep focusing, you're letting him and that whole mystery around him distract you. Right now, he is a target, nothing more. Get him off that horse and win this damn thing.”

\--

In the seventh round, Jon unfortunately found his ending as a perfectly placed hit of the Vale boy's lance set off his balance too much and the bigger strength of the other boy sent him flying off of Dalia. He hit the ground hard, lost the helmet and needed a moment to settle his spinning head before taking a breath and getting himself up on his knees again. His broken lance laid half in his hand and half defeated maybe two steps away from him, Dalia had trotted back to Edric who looked sad but nevertheless gifted Jon a small smile.

With another breath, Jon had enough air back in his lungs to make a quick gesture towards his Pa and family in the Dornish stand to keep them from worrying.

The Vale boy hadn't stopped at all, hadn't gone down to help Jon up again as manners usually demanded it. The applause around the stands was subdued and restrained, as if they had been rooting for another winner, and maybe that wouldn't get him everything right now but Jon noted it down anyway.

Not even throwing a look his way, the Vale kid rode towards the Royal stand and accepted the crown of colorful roses with his unbroken lance. He settled himself upright in his saddle and let his stupid white horse trot back onto the sand pit, his eyes looked around and Jon's world stopped as this boy directed his horse towards the Dornish corner then.

What was happening?

Could it be? Was this the boy who had...

“For the most beautiful girl here. Only you I can crown Princess of Love and Beauty.”

And still standing in the middle of his lane, sand up to his knees, Jon had to stare helplessly as this boy he didn't know dropped the crown of pink roses onto Rhaena's lap who looked almost as stunned as Jon felt. Beneath that suddenly hot curling dragon raging to go over there, rip the flowers away from her and slap them right back into the face of this Vale boy. Beneath that wolf flashing his teeth and wanting to rip this boy's throat out for just daring to look at her like that.

How dare he...

_Torrhen! Where was **Torrhen**?_

Spinning around Jon reluctantly took his eyes off of that Vale idiot, just in time to slam an arm against Torrhen's chest and dig his heels into the ground to stop his approaching bull of a cousin.

“He dares...”

“No.”

“He thinks he can...”

“No.”

“My sister!”

“No.”

“I will...”

“Torrhen, stop!”

And then Uncle Benjen was there and pulling Torrhen off the sandpit with an unforgiving grip and Jon turned away from his cousin's spitting curses to once more look over to where Rhaena had set the crown upon her head. Jaw set, teeth gritted, eyes searing a line of heat towards the Vale's boy's face as he still awaited a response from her.

Jon caught her wild eyes and subtly shook his head, _don't make a scene, don't turn this into something they will talk about. Be smart, Rhae. _Rhaena though had absolutely zero interest in not causing some gossip for once because she hardened her face into a rock sculpture even more, wrenched herself to her feet and then stormed off in such a spectacular fashion that the skirts of the other girls and women in the stand around her still swished back in place when she was already gone.

The Vale boy smirked, like this wasn't a fucking offense dealt to him and calmly turned his horse away, Jon still saw how Elion pushed Oberyn back down again, how Aurane reached over to no doubt restrain Jon's Pa and keep himself from lashing out at this boy's ego, how stunned Ashara looked. Jon himself caught his now former opponent's eyes only briefly but it stirred something in him that had him curl his fingers more tightly again around the hilt of the broken off lance he was now holding in his right hand.

In his head a dragon began roaring.

“Jon, come on,” Edric called him back out of his head again and his smaller hand curled around Jon's wrist, “if you do something stupid now, they're gonna talk for good. Let's find the others and find out who this guy is. He doesn't look like a Vale boy to me _at all_.”

\--

**A few hours (and Torrhen ranting tantrums) later**

\--

“I'm not going.”

Ashara sighed and sent a quick prayer up to the gods who had gifted her a daughter with the same stubborn head as her own. Everything she said or even just thought about in recent moons felt like utter hypocritisy to her because she had been exactly the same at this age and if she hadn't listened to a word her mother had said, there would be absolutely no change with her own daughter now.

“There is nothing you can say that can make me change my mind! And don't think about getting father in here, either, he will be able to even less!”

Once upon a time, Ashara had been twelve years old and a boy had broken her heart, she had acted out at first but had then quickly decided that acting non-chalant and totally uncaring would be the better approach. No one got to dare and hurt her, so she simply acted like it hadn't touched her at all when that stupid Jordayne boy had given the flowers to some other girl.

“Rhae, my sweet, it is tradition for the winner to dance with the one he crowned. I know things are a bit different this time in this... tourney of madness but you are usually much more understanding of honoring traditions.”

There we are, Ashara thought while Rhaena kept on ignoring her in the tent she shared with Elia and Tyene, between all the potential suspects to cause Dornish drama I would have not expected my daughter to take the scepter. Though in all fairness, she didn't know how her son was doing because she had to flip a coin quick when it came down to which child to calm down after that disastrous flower crown dilemma and her daughter had won out.

Mostly because her son was loud in his anger, something his uncles, Barristan or his friends were better equipped to deal with.

Her daughter began plotting.

Rhaena acted on her anger quietly.

She was her mother in that regard, which was why Ashara was only the more worried that Rhaena was planning something vile. She knew what she would have done at that age under these circumstances, she remembered what she _would_ have done to Vorian Jordayne if Elia hadn't stopped her.

Vile things.

And Vorian had grown up into a decent man, a proud soldier for Dorne's army, there was no telling if this strange Vale boy couldn't do the same. Even though he twisted all kinds of warnings in Ashara's gut to new heights.

“I am not going to let myself become the laughing stock of this tourney,” Rhaena snarled into the chest she kept on rummaging around in.

“Darling, no one will think about laughing at you when I'm done with you,” Ashara decided and Rhaena threw her a brief look as Ashara made some steps over to the table the girls used as a vanity. “And those who will still dare can be silenced by your father or your brother, trust me on that. Do you remember what I once told you about Harrenhall? About what Elia said to me after Rhaegar had crowned Jon's mother?”

“If I show them weakness now, they will only dig their claws in harder,” Rhaena recited and understanding flashed in her eyes, still Ashara chose to add upon it after all.

“You're not a Queen to be but you're bastardborn and a girl. If you show these people weakness now, if you show them that you can be humiliated, then they'll never forget, they'll always see you as nothing more than a bastardborn girl.” She pulled her daughter away from the chest and set her down on the chair at the vanity table that she had rightened again after Rhaena's frustration had prompted her to kick it over. “You're so much more than that.”

“I'm the daughter of Ashara Dayne and Jacaerys Velaryon,” Rhaena hummed and grabbed the hand mirror as Ashara began to unravel the braids her daughter had worn since this morning. Beautiful as they were, something more brilliant needed to be done for tonight. “I carry the blood of the First Men, the Rhoynar and Old Valyria in me. I can be whoever I want to be. And I'm going to wear the red dress tonight.” Ashara's hands froze in her daughter's so pale hair and she met Rhaena's eyes in the looking glass.

“Why,” was the only thing she dared to ask then, she knew exactly which dress her daughter meant, the one she had already been reluctant to let Rhaena pack in the first place. It had been a gift from Lucerys and Rhaena loved it to pieces ever since she had seen the original depiction of it on a portrait that had been made of Lord Corlyn and Princess Rhae for the occasion of their betrothal. Lucerys, who had absolutely no idea how to say no to anything his grandchildren asked him for, especially not his granddaughters, nor any desire to ever say no, had commissioned a dressmaker on Driftmark to create a copy as close to the original as it could get.

The dress was beautiful and modest – as if Maekar's youngest daughter could have ever gotten away with anything else – that wasn't the problem.

The problem laid within it having been made for a Targaryen Princess.

“Because I am sick of walking around on eggshells,” Rhaena told her with her spine straight as a spear, fire burning in her eyes. “People say I remind them of her, that we have a lot in common. I am proud of who I am and I want them all to see that. I will wear the red dress or I won't go. Your choice, mother.”

Your choice, mother.

Gods be damned, mother had been right, it does all come back to bite you in the ass.

“Fine, but no lip coloring, you are only two and ten,” Ashara said and got to work on unbraiding her daughter's hair, if Rhaena wanted a spectacle, she was going to get one.

A throat being cleared outside the tent entrance a good few minutes of peaceful silence later had Ashara stop with her first braids and Rhaena stared herself down in the hand mirror, a hair's width away from committing actual murder. Elia had carried that look whenever Oswell had pushed himself beyond his limits to follow his duties and be there for her as much as possible, in Harrenhall especially. And just like with her late best friend, Ashara knew that nothing could be done if her daughter's patience was pushed too much.

Storms followed.

The kind where the only you could do to survive was seek shelter.

“Can I come him?” Barristan called out and Rhaena's face relaxed again, Ashara herself let her shoulders down again, breathing out and checking with Rhaena first before calling out an invitation.

Barristan looked hesitant when he stepped into the tent and Ashara braced herself for whatever was going to come their way now. She was so sick and tired of twists and turns, Harrenhall was beginning to look like child's play to this disaster. “I'm afraid I have to bring some bad news,” Barristan began and Rhaena whirled around, not a star, not a seahorse in that moment but a dragon made flesh. “The boy has vanished. He cannot be found anywhere on the tourney grounds, the same goes for the knight who had claimed to squire him. I am so very sorry.”

Rhaena screamed loud enough that Torrhen and Holden came running with swords drawn.

This was officially worse than Harrenhall.

\--

When Jaime turned up in the Dornish camp about an hour before the evening celebrations were to start again to honor the winner of the squire jousting – regardless of said boy supposedly having vanished into thin air – Andric knew right away that it wouldn't be to carry good news for once. The boys were gone doing their own things. Ashara was still with Rhaena, Richard and Benjen had gone off to enjoy the evening early, so it was only Andric himself, Oberyn, Aurane, Arthur and Carral whom Jaime found sitting at a fire.

“Robert has decided”, Jaime began with a sigh and Arthur groaned so loud next to Andric that he had to bite down a laugh, “that in light of such formidable performances by the squires, both the winner and the runner up of the champion joust will be handed crowns.” That revelation was met with a moment of utter silence where no one either knew what to say or wanted to say anything, until Oberyn broke it with a dumbfounded “another one?”

“That's about half a breath away from calling Arthur to a fucking duel.” Aurane spit out and only stopped immediately afterwards because Arthur set a hand upon his knee. Andric shared the emotion behind it though, fury curdling in his gut over the audacity that this childish king had.

“I'd actually prefer the duel over this whole show, at least there I wouldn't have to worry about a damn thing,” Arthur grouched and glowered at the ground, glaring rocks into submission.

“Careful with the treason, brother,” Andric warned nevertheless but Arthur and Aurane both glanced over to him and scoffed, glasshouse and stones, yes, Andric knew.

“I have half a mind to withdraw myself from the jousting.” Jaime lamented with a tired sigh and Andric could see how the alarm bells began to ring in his brother's head, Arthur glanced up to Jaime and something began to tick within him. “He's losing it.”

“Careful with the treason, Kingsguard.” Aurane smirked and used Andric's word on the white-cloaked knight standing before them, Jaime glared at him and Arthur elbowed Aurane.

“Oh, fuck off, Aurane.”

“If you withdraw, he's only gonna ask questions, Jaime,” Arthur reasoned, clearly the only one who still wanted to apply logic while everyone else had given up a long time ago and just let their mouths run free if there was no sensitive audience around.

“Who are you gonna crown if you make it to the last round, huh?” Jaime showed that though clearly affected by the overall tension and collective mess of a tourney, he was still someone with his spine very much in tact as well.

“Why is everyone so obsessed with who I'm going to crown?” Arthur didn't just pose his question towards the young lion, throwing a look into the whole round because it was everyone here who was clearly convinced he was at least going to make it into the final round. “No one has seen me joust outside of Dorne since Harrenhall.” But in every single one of those small tourneys or celebrations within Dorne, Arthur had wiped the jousting lanes clean with never more than four lances.

Andric wasn't the betting kind but he would have put money down on his brother.

“Arthur,” Jaime pulled on Andric's brother attention very directly then and Andric chose to look away because it was clearly going to be personal. Oberyn met his eyes and they exchanged a brief wordless conversation, agreeing entirely over Robert going too far. “I cannot endure a second king whispering about his murder fantasies.” And that confession on Jaime's part had Andric redirect his attention back to the potentially private conversation between friends.

There was having a king who didn't hide away his hatred for old enemies.

But having a king whisper about his murder fantasies in quiet undisturbed moments was a whole other thing.

It was a thing that could only be described with one word.

Mad.

“Okay, come,” Arthur decided and quickly got to his feet, waving Aurane back down again when he made to follow, “we gotta talk.” Jaime, shoulders slumped and finally letting himself look as exhausted as he had to feel, let himself simply be pushed into going. “Someone find the boys and tell them what's going on,” Arthur still called over his shoulder back towards them and then they were gone.

“Please tell me you have a plan,” Oberyn spoke up the very moment Arthur and Jaime were out of sight and set his eyes upon Aurane. “This child who calls himself King wants Arthur so desperately to humiliate himself. We have to prevent it with all means.”

“I think Jon and I, we found a solution,” Aurane revealed and then frowned after Arthur, Andric waited it out until Aurane had gotten his thoughts together. “Can you do me a favor, Andric?”

“Sure.”

“The day after tomorrow, when the jousting starts, wait until Arthur has left to get ready, then go into our tent and take Dawn.” Aurane's word had Andric tense up, eyebrows drawing together, even Oberyn had grown so very still. “And then lock her away.”

“Aurane...”

“He's being tested and tested and tested. Every single day, there is something new, another insult, another veiled threat. Directed at him!” Aurane unnecessarily reminded them and Andric swallowed because he knew even his rock of a brother had a breaking point. “It's eating away at him. His patience has a limit and if Robert continues, we're gonna reach it soon. Any day now, Andric. We're prepared, I know it, we have men all over the tourney grounds but what do you wanna do if Arthur snaps and has Dawn ready at the taking? Hope it will just be another tree?” Highly unlikely. “Hope that Jaime isn't worn out enough that he can keep up?” No one wanted to see that. “Hope that Jace and Richard and Benjen and Carral can be together quick enough to stop him? If these hits keep on going, Arthur is going to forget himself and he will only want one thing.”

“Revenge for Rhaegar,” Oberyn spoke it out and Aurane nodded, “revenge for Rhaegar, for Elia, for Aegon and Rhaenys. For Rhaella.”

“For Lewyn, for Jonothor, for Oswell, for Gerold... and for Myles,” Aurane needlessly continued, dragging a hand down his face. “Jon's steps are waking up the part in Arthur that he set to sleep fourteen years ago. Lock her away, Andric, before Arthur can do something that he will regret later. And before I forget it, Richard should be watched as well. Contrary to Arthur, he actually _saw_ Robert cut down Myles and Rhaegar.”

\--

“You look beautiful.”

Jon said it with as much meaning as he could gather while dozens of eyes were watching them. In lack of the squire joust's winner being present, Jon as the runner up had stepped up to dance with the princess of love and beauty. He would have done it regardless of who had been chosen by the cowardic mystery idiot, that it was Rhaena was only a wonderful bonus that made it all less awkward.

And people were watching them, there was almost no set of eyes not on them.

Jon knew as well why, Rhaena hadn't held back and had gone all out, with her dress, with her hair, she looked incredibly beautiful tonight.

“Oh, shut up,” Rhaena grumbled quietly at him though, letting herself spin into another circle that made the jewels on her red dress sparkle in the light of the celebration tent. Jon had understood at first sight of her what she wanted to play tonight, and though being careful in it he was only glad to join her. “You don't need to butter me up. I'm fine.” He believed her but it didn't mean he couldn't be polite a little or treat her a little with comfort, that idiot had humiliated her after all by disappearing like a fool.

“Is that why you're hissing like a desert cat?” He asked with a chuckle and spun her closer again, some other people were joining them now as their opening dance had gone on long enough. Most though were still too mesmerized by the picture they had to be giving off. The beauty in her red dress and her wonderfully done up hair, the tall quiet jouster in black. He wondered if Ashara had to think of Rhaegar and Elia as she stood at the side with a soft small smile.

“I don't need the attention of boys who disappear like cowards.” Rhaena told him and looked up at him, Jon raised an eyebrow and she huffed, squeezing his hand a little.

“I'm not gonna disappear,” he couldn't help but remark and Rhaena rolled her eyes, flawlessly matching his steps without looking as the music changed. Jon could forget about everything like this, even forget about the King watching from his plateau.

“I know,” Rhaena sighed and showed some vulnerability after all, “it's just... what do you think Torre is gonna do now?” She asked and both of them glanced over to the side where Torrhen was talking with Robb and Quentyn but he was always in some way watching them as well. “He's never going to let me out of his sight again or at least he'll make it so that someone whom _he_ trusts will always have eyes on me.” And if people failed to report honestly or act according to Torrhen's wishes, there was always Shadow to consider, Jon knew the struggle himself but Torrhen would always act more rash over Rhaena's safety than Jon's own.

“I think you don't give your brother enough credit,” he also couldn't help but comment and Rhaena briefly scowled at him, she wasn't some dim damsel who could be lured away by false promises and one charming smile from a man. She could defend herself, and what her words couldn't achieve, her dragon for sure could. Sonara had the right temper for it, Torrhen just chose to forget it all the damn time. His sister wasn't helpless, he was just very protective.

“He's an overprotective fool,” was Rhaena's opinion of it all and Jon spun her around in some quick steps one more time before he kept the conversation going.

“He's the son of a man who thought his sister kidnapped and raped,” he softly reminded Rhaena who huffed over it, as if any of them would ever forget it but Jon also knew what Rhaena's whole standing point was on the reckless temper that Torrhen had enherited from Brandon Stark.

“Yes, the son of a man who recklessly confronted a king about that and died for it.” Rhaena pointed out drily and Jon breathed out a sigh, wondering if this whole non-chalant facade was the truth or an act that Rhaena was putting up to hide a broken heart.

“Did you really like this boy?” He hence threw a question at her that was probably risky enough that he could end up standing alone on the dancefloor within the next moment but Rhaena only shrugged and smiled when she saw Barristan asking Ashara to dance.

“I liked the _attention_. I liked how he looked at me.” Rhaena revealed and looked back at Jon, showing insecurity in violet eyes, “I liked that he chose me above someone else.”

“You're the daughter of Ashara Dayne and Jacaerys Velaryon, trust me he's not gonna be the last boy who looked at you.”

Rhaena smiled and then laughed when the music picked up even more speed and Jon picked her to spin her around.

\--

“I know what you should do,” Aurane whispered when they had found a good spot to sit in silence and watch the stars, Arthur resting his face against Aurane's good shoulder. They had once more decided to skip the evening festivities, Arthur just couldn't bring up the motivation to put on a thick skin again and laugh under the eyes of hatred. “Whether you win or take second place.”

“I'm all ears,” Arthur noted and let his eyes map out another constellation in the sky, he felt good, despite the day's events and the days preceeding it.

He trusted Jon to have made the right decisions and he could for once lean back and trust others to fulfill their duties. He was no Kingsguard anymore, so finding Mace Tyrell's murderer and finding out how it could come to be did not rest in his hands. And dealing with this mystery squire and where the boy might have come from was also something that Jace and Ashara could handle on their own.

Arthur had simply wanted no drama for himself.

And so far it was mostly working out because others had been there to catch the brunt of it. It could have all fallen down on their heads when Jon had decided to include Willas Tyrell into the truth about himself without prior telling anyone about it but his boy's gut had chosen well. Willas had seemingly understood the need for secrecy and had even more understood what dire consequences would befall them all if the wrong person would hear of it.

“Give the crown to a girl from the smallfolk,” Aurane proposed his idea and Arthur quickly propped himself up on his hands and stared down at Aurane, which of course prompted Aurane to keep talking.

“The smallfolk loves you and they do not like Robert.” To put it mildly, whatever Robert had hoped to achieve with his mummery tourney, it hadn't worked at all, the people were whispering more than ever. “Robert wants to rile _you_ up, even they can sense that, give one of them the crown and show them that you're still _their_ White Knight.” Arthur frowned, trying to sort in what Aurane was trying to hint at. It would certainly get the people talking if he crowned a smallfolk girl but no one's sensitivities would get hurt by it.

The one thing Arthur wanted to achieve if he had to crown anyone.

A little fact that he seemed to be the only one putting into consideration.

“Aurane, what are you going for?” He hence wanted to know and sat up even more when Aurane got himself up as well.

“You saw Jon,” Aurane started and immediately got more serious, “you saw him standing there in front of Robert. You saw him standing there telling the truth to Jaime and asking him to protect his future. And telling Willas Tyrell as well, without even giving a warning to any of us first.” Aurane described the bigger picture they found themselves in now, Arthur didn't like it but even he couldn't deny that it was there. Jon's choice to go rogue with Willas had proven it. “He's made a decision, Arthur, you know that as well as I do.”

“I'm not ready,” he said immediately and Aurane reached out to cup his face, thumb stroken over his cheekbone. It didn't diminish the panic that Arthur could feel welling up whenever he had seen Jon taking a step closer to a final decision in the last moons. His little wolf was no mere boy anymore, he was growing up and with becoming a man he was also undeniably becoming something more.

“Neither am _I_,” Aurane tried to give comfort, “but if he thinks he is, we have to get over ourselves.” It was the truth, but it was easier said than done, Arthur had blinded himself to the possibility for so long because he had wanted so desperately that Jon had had the childhood that had never been possible for Rhaegar.

“You think it's time?”

“You still look good in white, and my ship will look _incredible_ with black sails,” Aurane pointed out with a smirk and Arthur rolled his eyes, smiling over Aurane's priorities. A smile he kept even as Aurane moved his hand away from Arthur's face and intertwined their fingers on Arthur's knee. “And be honest with me, darling, listen into yourself, and tell me what Ser Arthur wants. Not what Papa wants, what does _Ser Arthur, Rhaegar's best friend,_ really want?”

There was no need to listen into himself.

Blinded to it or not, the knowledge on what that part of Arthur had always wanted had never stopped being there, it had never hidden itself away. Arthur had simply thrown a cloak over it.

The white cloak that Lyanna had been buried in.

“Rhaegar's son. My King. On the Iron Throne.”

And Dawn sticking from Robert Baratheon's chest.

The last part he didn't say out loud, he had never made a real secret out of it, Aurane knew better than anyone what Arthur sometimes dreamt about. Papa and Ser Arthur both wanted that revenge.

“So let's put our boy there,” Aurane decided and Arthur smiled down at their hands for a moment, his mind flickering back to all the occasions where they had been the only ones who had stopped a fire of plotting and plans. And so the chains dropped away from a dragon, he thought to himself, and the knight took up a sword once more. “We'll be with him, all the way, we will not let this change him.”

It was a goal back in the day that Arthur had promised himself with Rhaegar as well, but it had been a battle he had fought alone for too long and lost long before he had lost Rhaegar. With Jon now, it was no longer him against the rest of the world, Jon had enough people around him who could ensure that he remained who he was.

“And we won't let this change us either,” he added to Aurane's promise as an afterthought and Aurane frowned heavily at him, squeezing Arthur's hand to draw his eyes up to meet his own.

“Never, what brings up that question for you?” He wanted to know, confusion and concern slipping over softened eyes, the light of the stars turning his eyes so very light and undescribable.

“If Jon goes this way, I'm picking up a white cloak again,” Arthur drew the path they would have ahead of themselves. And though he had once already looked at certain oaths a Kingsguard made a bit more loosely than it had originally been intended for sure, Arthur also knew that things were a bit different this time around. “At least I'm hoping Jon will ask me.”

Aurane scoffed at the latter part of his argument but Arthur wasn't so sure, Jon had at some point developed a very dire need to see Arthur protected and happy as well. There was a chance, small maybe, but there was a chance that Jon might just not want to see him thrown into a position where an oath demanded that Arthur risk his life on a daily occasion to protect him.

Jon didn't want to loose people he cared about.

“And you think the first thing would bother me? You do remember how I wanted you back in the day, right?” Aurane asked with no small amount of cheek and Arthur got himself down to a chuckle, as if he was ever able to forget about it. To forget about Aurane's flirting, ill placed as it had back then been. To forget about Rhaegar's jealousy, him who had already seen more than Arthur would have been capable of back then.

But the boys who had back then played that game were different people now.

One of them dead, and two who had lived through a war, through pain and loss, through being a hostage, through being forced into exile and living in hiding. They had both seen the very best in good people, and the worst in bad people.

They had seen monsters rise and fall.

“You were a bastard back then with nothing to lose,” Arthur simplified his words though to not put too much of a shadow over them. They both had their demons and they had learned to not fight their personal battles without the other anymore.

“And now I was made a legitimized son who is carrying a title on his shoulders, too.” Aurane shrugged though, changed maybe, but he was still also very much himself at the core, like Arthur hoped for himself as well. “If Jon lets me keep being Lord Admiral of the Royal Fleet, I will still not give a damn. My men don't give a damn because they know that I'll still fight at their side and would risk my life for any of them. If Redwyne thinks me to be some kind of sissy because of the people I want to be with, then let him come,” those two would in this life never not remain enemies. Not even Jon and diplomacy skills and convincing arguments would change that. Too much bad blood, and too many insults and biting words had been created and exchanged. “I'll sink his damn ships with both my hands tight behind my back.” A part of Arthur who was angry as well on the behalf of the man he loved actually hoped, that though Willas might stand with Jon, Redwyne would not, just so that Aurane could get that confrontation. “Or are you afraid of what people will think of you?”

“Oh, they're gonna think a lot already when the truth comes out.” Arthur laughed and shook his head, a hero, a liar, a traitor, he already knew which people would say what. Knew who would praise loyalty and who would condemn it. “I doubt my desire for men will be the loudest whispers then anymore.” Mostly also because the people who hadn't gotten it by now were utterly blind.

“So, fuck it.” Aurane told him and brought their clasped hands up to kiss Arthur's knuckles. “Among the men who will most likely serve under you, my Lord Commander to be, Torrhen and Adrian already know the truth obviously. And they don't give a damn. Jaime doesn't look like he might have any issues,” Jaime had a lot of other isses to worry about at the moment, his basket was full, “Barristan certainly doesn't. I can imagine Jon might ask Holden and Richard as well, and they both don't care either.”

It would be a strong capable Kingsguard where every member had their morals in the right place.

None of those men would put the King on such a pedestal that his safety went beyond that of his family and his kingdom.

Jon was no Aerys, no Maegor or Aegon IV, but the future would throw their own coins.

“I love you.” Arthur chose to put his agreement with everything Aurane had put into words into those three simple ones and Aurane leaned closer. They kissed for a very long moment and then still remained connected, foreheads resting against each other.

“I love you, too, and it's never gonna change.”

\--

“You're suspiciously quiet since we left the celebrations,” Jace remarked as he walked his daughter back to the Dornish camp, shadowed by Torrhen's wolf like his daughter had been ever since this boy had crowned her. Torrhen wasn't taking any chances and Jace appreciated that more that he would probably want to admit. Rhaena shrugged her shoulders but despite dancing quite a lot like she had done the other evenings as well, he had also seen his daughter deep in conversation with the usual suspects of her companions. Elia Sand, his niece Alyssa.

Both of whom matched his daughter in their drive and their cunning quick thoughts, Alyssa especially was frail in body but her head was sharper than his own grandmother's had been in his earlier years. Alyssa's brothers were smart but she could be manipulative to a degree that he had already sometimes been alarmed at with Rhaena.

Those two girls knew what their hands and their words were capable of and as they grew older they didn't loose the hesitation to push for what they wanted.

So a quiet daughter sitting deep in conversation with an equally quiet niece was grounds for some questions.

“Is there anything in the works that I should be concerned about?” He wondered out loud hence and earned himself a sideway glance up from his little girl who shrugged her shoulders again and then snapped her fingers to bring Shadow closer. The same gesture worked with her dragon as well, that white glorious beast with those pale icy eyes that always reminded Jace of his mother's stern look. Judging by what everyone was saying, Sonara seemed wilder than her older brother by far and had subdued her other brother in no time at all.

The little green dragon was a sweetheart according to Jon, Sonara was biting everything and everyone if it only pleased her. Andric had banned her from the castle rooms the second she had learned how to spit fire.

“So, you're not plotting the demise of a certain vanished boy?” He wanted to know curiously and earned himself another sharp look from his daughter, sometimes it was truly scary how much she could resemble his grandmother. A woman she had never gotten to meet. “Broken hearts can lead people to do some reckless things.” He would know a thing or two about that, his broken heart had led him to some very regrettable actions but this time that tidbit of truth also worked perfectly in coaxing a reaction out of Rhaena.

“My heart isn't broken.” Rhaena snarled and Jace raised one hand in a defensive position but also grinned because he had gotten what he wanted in the end.

“And she does speak after all.” He commented and Rhaena rolled her eyes so spectacularly that it had to hurt, he lowered his hand again and kept her safely at his side.

“He was just one idiot among many,” Rhaena grouched but it didn't sound like it at all, Jace heard something completely different. It was usually only Torrhen who got called 'idiot' in that fond a tone.

He wasn't sure if he should have been happy that his daughter was growing up and stumbling into the paths of first loves, boys and broken hearts or terribly alarmed that she wouldn't remain his little girl forever.

“Funny, I don't believe a word you're saying.”

“Is it so bad to get some attention?” Very open to arguments and some growing up and some adjustment time for fathers who only wanted to protect their daughters, Jace thought but kept on listening to Rhaena. “To want some attention?” That question was easier to answer because if there was anything a child of Jacaerys Velaryon and Ashara Dayne had been doomed for then certainly a need for attention. It was ingrained too much in their blood.

“Course not,” he said hence and reached over to tuck a stray strand of hair behind his daughter's ear, “just maybe not from boys who mask their origins and then vanish into _thin air_.”

Rhaena snorted, rather unlady like, something that only her brother could have taught her, but she also straightened her shoulders and kept her chin up. “If that is the only attention I can get, I'm taking it.” She told him with decisive words, her spine remained straight and out of iron, that wasn't something that the Water Gardens or Sunspear could teach her, it was just simply something that was so deeply set into who she was. She carried her heart on her open hand, that was true, but the other hand carried the dagger to protect it.

“You sure this hasn't anything to do with broken hearts?” He nevertheless tried it again because if there was something Jacaerys knew boys could do then it was to break hearts. He himself had a list way too long to account for. “Your mother always fell fast and hard, too. And I can't say that I didn't make the same mistake before.” His heart burned when he thought back to that one time especially where he had fallen so hard and so fast in no time at all, where one wrong moment had meant he had lost it all not two years later.

“I did not fall for him.” Rhaena's hissed denial thankfully ripped Jace out of his thoughts before he could fall deeper into pain and regret.

“Alright, why are we spitting fire then?” He wanted to know, beginning to slip into confusion, women could make so much sense at one moment and be so puzzling and complicated in the next. And it counted double for daughters, Corlyn was right there.

“If I tell you a suspicion I might have, can you promise me you won't immediately run to your golden armored friends and seek out battle?” Rhaena asked him and Jace made a double take at her innocent looking face, blinking at her while she patiently waited for a reaction.

“What by the gods are you talking about?” He demanded to know and pleaded for one of his brothers or even better for Justine or Ashara to appear from nothing, support in any form was more than appreciated in that second.

“Promise me, Pa.” Rhaena insisted without clearing anything up and her eyes stared up at him. “Promise me that you will listen to me first and not do something reckless.” It was hilarious that Grandmother Rhae had once asked the same kind of promise from him, when he had been young and indeed very much reckless.

“Fine,” he gave in, as he had grown older, he had not only learned a great many lessons by making mistakes or seeing others make mistakes, Jace had also learned patience. Though he also knew that he couldn't promise on his life, there were still a couple of things that would turn him back into the reckless captain who saw no danger or risks.

“Promise me.”

Jace sighed and heaved another breath, of course Rhaena would insist, they hadn't spent her lifetime as father and daughter but she still knew him well enough by now.

“I promise I will not run and do something reckless,” he promised and briefly leaned down to kiss her beautifully braided hair. “Now, what is it?”

“I think I know who the boy was,” Rhaena lowered her voice a little and Jace had to strain his ears to keep hearing her. “Who he _truly_ was.”

“And?”

Puzzles, always with the damn puzzles.

“Question is now,” Rhaena started and stopped them in the middle of the Dornish camp, she looked up into her father's confused face that was curious at the same time. “What was his first impression of King Robert's rule? And also, did he really find me interesting or was he simply checking out Valyrian brides with connections to Westeros?” Jace froze and he knew that Rhaena could feel how the muscles in his arm jumped and twitched as he tried so hard not to overreact and act first before thinking about it.

“Are you implying that...”

“It's a thick suspicion.” She insisted because with that suspicion there was a lot that was certainly adding up now. And if she was right, if this turned out to be the truth then those folks were more daring than he would have given them credit for. Jon would have to act faster than he might have liked, a decision was now not a future's plan anymore.

“I'll look into it,” Jace promised and then pulled them back into walking towards her tent, him deep in thought now, wondering among other things why this boy had approached Rhaena and not the trueborn Alyssa.

\--

On a ship that a long since left Shipbreaker Bay far behind itself, two boys were watching the nightsky over the rough sea. The winds were encouraging of their hurried flight from Westerosi shores and the sails were fed plentiful with strong gusts of wind. Neither boy was in any way affected by the sharp movements the ships was forced into by the raging waves, both of them had spent a significant part of their childhood growing up on ships.

“Quite the show we left behind, huh?” the leaner of the two boys wanted to know with a mocking laugh, dragging a hand through hair that soon would loose the mousy brown. He had already taken off the tricks that changed his eye color, the one the mummers had taught them in Tyrosh. Gone was the blue and back was the vibrant lilac that would only grow lighter as his hair changed again as well.

Rion, broader shoulders than his friend and sun kissed skin, kept his own now green again eyes firmly on the waves slamming against the ship below the railing. As amusing as the whole show had indeed been, it hadn't been personal motivation to follow Aegon to Storm's End and attend the tourney as his secret guard, hidden behind borrowed clothes and names. Rion had wanted to see his family, he had wanted to see the family that had been taken from him the day his mother had walked into the trap of the slavers in the back alleys of Volantis.

Years before his sister had been born in the very same city.

He had wanted to lay eyes upon his father and his sister, and he had been successful, seen their happiness, their bright smiles, seen his father sparring in the trainings yard, seen him carry golden rings with pride. And how many there had been. He had seen the beauty that his sister was, how quick her mind was apparently, witnessed in the shadows as Aegon had approached her. He had seen his grandfather walk along the tourney grounds with friends, seen his uncles with their loved ones. His aunt with his cousins.

Everything had been so close but at the same time so far out of reach.

“Are you sure your mother is going to be so happy about the chaos you left behind?” Rion spoke up when Aegon's eyes settled on him after a too long silence on his part. Ten years now he had spent at the boy's side, ever since he had been freed by Aegon's men alongside his mother who worked for Aegon's own mother's household in Tyrosh now but with payment.

Rion himself had become a companion and friend to the boy they called the rightful King back in his home. A boy without a crown, a boy without a throne. None of that was of any interest to the last remnants of the Blackfyre line, they only saw the end of the line, that Iron Throne that none of them had ever seen. Most of them had never even stepped a foot upon Westeros but they all saw it as their destiny to put Aegon on the throne and fulfill the legacy that Daemon Blackfyre had left behind on the Redgrass Field.

Truthfully, Rion only still remained at Aegon's side because it was bringing him closer to Westeros and hence his family, his mother thinking along the same lines. Neither of them truly supported the deranged views of Aegon's mother or advisers, nor did they in any way find anything else but disgust on their heart over the lies and mysteries that were being fabricated day by day to one day convince the people of Westeros that Aegon was the King they had once mourned.

That he was a babe whose head had been supposedly squashed against a wall.

“Mother will be happy to note that I left an impression and that those folks are indeed as easy to fool as one might have hoped,” Aegon answered and his cocky smirk only grew, his right hand was palming one of the flowers he had broken off from the crown of roses he had won in the squire rounds. The one that had gone to... “I'm heading in, don't remain out too long or you'll be swept over board. Can't lose my personal guard before the war even begins, can I now?”

“I'll be right behind you, just need a moment longer,” Rion promised and watched Aegon leave before turning back to observe the water, most of the crew was either asleep or busy with keeping the ship on course so he had some much missed privacy. Aegon and his closest advisors usually spun their great tales about justice and history being corrected for the better when they got together in the evening and the ale went flowing.

Rion knew all of them by heart by now, he didn't need to listen to another reenacment.

Bastards on thrones, real heirs being shunned and abandoned.

Glorious Daemon Blackfyre and his courageous sons. Loyal Aegor Rivers.

Funny to note then that the oh so noble cause of the Blackfyres to finally place a true rightful dragon king back on the Iron Throne happened without the Golden Company. Four times they had said no to getting involved, four times their choice had been no, and hence they had needed to look for support in other ways. Paying the Second Sons and the Stormcrows to fall in line and fight their future battles for them.

Rion shuddered over just the thought of it, all he wished for was to take his mother and reunite with the father he hadn't been with since he had been nothing but a babe in arms.

He glanced over his shoulder when the deck door slammed shut and not for the first time he felt that doubt in his heart. Only this time brief moments had turned into a lasting stab right into his chest as he thought back to the look in his friend's eyes as the older boy had set the crown of roses into the hands of that beautiful young girl. Aegon was a good man, or he could be when he stopped dangling from his mother's and uncle's strings for a moment, he had a good heart but his mind was sharpened to duty, duty with the wrong cause.

And this flower crown...

He hadn't liked it at all, hadn't liked what it implied, not within Aegon's own head, nor within the greater plans wrapped all around them.

He had wanted to storm over and rip the crown out of those dainty hands, he had wanted to grab them and tug her away from Aegon before his darkness could cloud together over her, too.

Rion still only wanted one thing, every part of him wanted only one thing.

Getting his sister away from Aegon's attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to do something different at the end here for once.
> 
> I got some questions for you. You can answer for yourselves, you can answer in the comments, you can answer as a reply to the tweet of this chapter (https://twitter.com/AugustStories/status/1283335863666126853). You can answer some or all of them, I'm just curious on what the general opinions are after the story went on so long already.
> 
> 1\. Who in your opinion is going to be Jon's Queen?  
2\. Who do you think will die before this story is out?  
3\. Who do you want the least to die?  
and  
4\. Who is going to be Willas' wife?
> 
> Thank you in advance! I'm gonna go write on something else now for a few days and then focus back on the next chapter. 
> 
> PS: I took part in a summer writing challenge, the result will be up by the end of the week. It's something cracky but sweet concerning our lovely Arthur Dayne but it isn't related in any way to Howling at the Stars!


	8. Arthur Dayne, A White Knight Reborn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we start on the final chapter before the epilogue and the bonus scene, I want to say thank you to everyone who commented, who left kudos, who simply read in silence! I appreciate all of you and I promise this ride is gonna get started for good now.
> 
> In some weeks, there will be a Oneshot and then as the winter comes upon us we will start into the last part for the Howling at the Stars Series. It was a joyful journey and I loved every moment of it, which is why there will be a side series with oneshots about side characters, side moments and things like that in the new year. We will get moments from the past, the present of the story, glimpses into the future or a deeper look into moments from within the storylines.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been there from the start, to everyone who joined in the middle and to everyone who has only recently found this series. 
> 
> This has been THE most exciting and wonderful project I've ever written and I can't wait for you to see how it goes on!

Arthur threw his head back and pressed a hand to his chest, that kind of helpless gesture one always seemed to rely on when one's chest was bursting with laughter.

“He would have loved the chaos,” he managed to choke out somewhere in between, tears of laughter coming close to run free, around him his two companions didn't fare any different. “Oh, how much he would have loved this. The pure chaos and mayhem. He would have bounced like a child to get more gossip, he would have wanted to be everywhere at once. The poor being who would have been tasked with getting Oswell to sleep at some point.”

Barristan laughed hard enough that he had to lean over and set down the cup of ale, they had long since lost keeping track of the numbers. It was the night before the champion melee rounds and as both Jaime and Barristan were off duty for the evening, Arthur had taken the opportunity to get together with old friends to talk about what had been and what they were surrounding themselves with now.

“Nothing had ever faced him,” Jaime chuckled and it was doing him the best to have this evening, get his head cleared up again. “I remember that I once asked Jonothor how Oswell could do it and he just looked at me and said that if you grew up in Harrenhall, you probably either turned out crazy or like Oswell.”

“He was something special,” Barristan agreed with a grin and sat back up in the chair he had pulled up from the table. With Aurane gone to spent an evening with his men and the other fleet crews, Arthur had invited his former white brothers into his tent and Jaime and him were sitting side by side on the ground before the bed now.

“He was what Elia needed to not lose it,” Arthur said and it was easy to talk, so easy to talk about people they had all lost. Just the three of them. No judgement and no thought spent on them technically standing on different sides still. “I remember still how she came to life on Dragonstone, truly came to life again, after it began with Os. He could make her laugh so easily, he could make everyone laugh, even in the darkest moment.”

“What do you think he would have done if something had gone different at the Tower?” Jaime wanted to know after frowning a moment about his thoughts, “if all three of you had lived?”

“I don't see a way where Gerold would have remained with us,” Arthur began and looked over to Barristan who shook his head in agreement with his words, “he would have made for Dragonstone immediately. He would have demanded that Jon be brought to Rhaella and the children immediately, to have all the Targaryens in one place to be protected by the loyalists. And I would have probably needed to take up a sword to keep Jon with me.”

“Gerold was understanding in many things,” Barristan weighed in as well, looking between them, “but at the heart of it he always remained a Kingsguard Knight. Gerold served three kings and he outlived all three of them. All fondness for the brothers he served with, it would have went under the duty he wanted to see fulfilled. Getting revenge, putting a Targaryen King on the throne. If not Jon, then Viserys. Gerold was a Commander, he wasn't the kind to choose the innocence of children over the continuation of the dragon's line of ruling. Exile would have never been an option, he wanted to go down fighting.”

“And Oswell?”

“It would have been rough,” Arthur mused and thought back to Oswell's for once quiet pain after the news of Elia's death had come to them. “I know how I struggled in the first years, it wouldn't have been any different for Oswell, maybe harder still even because there wouldn't have been a son to take care of. But he would have kept going as well, would have found a place for himself, whether that would have been in Essos or in Dorne, I can't tell. He wouldn't have given up though, it wouldn't have been fair to Elia's memory. He knew parts of her that only so few had ever seen and his memory would have kept a part of her alive.”

“Sometimes,” Barristan began and his choice of tone had Jaime and Arthur quickly silent and focused, “I really wonder what they're all thinking of us now. Wherever they may be. I spent so many years drowning in the guilt that I never thought about their peace, of them being at peace.”

“It's what helped me come to terms with Rhaegar's death,” Arthur revealed without feeling weak in it, smiling slightly at Barristan, “knowing that he was finally at peace now. That no one and nothing could hurt him anymore. He's up there somewhere now, living the life that he could have never had down here.”

“I think that goes for all of them,” Jaime agreed and then got that look that told Arthur immediately who he was thinking about. “I would give everything to have gotten the chance to see Rhaenys grow up. She would have ordered her brothers around like they were her puppets.”

“She would have loved the boys,” Arthur agreed with it, standing up as he noticed how low the wine was running, “as they would have loved her. And I know from the bottom of my heart that Jon does what he does in part also for them, for the choices they could never make, the life that was taken from them.”

“Arthur?” Barristan called out when Arthur was turned away to fill up their cups and he looked over his shoulder again, finding his old friend's eyes settled heavily on him, Jaime glancing between them. “When Jon makes that choice, we'll find a way. We will. I won't see us colliding on a battlefield.”

“Barristan is right,” Jaime said as well and Arthur glanced over to him and those green eyes for once lacking any sign of exhaustion or frustration. “There is simply nothing that Robert can do, I won't fight you.”

“Be careful,” Arthur reasoned with him most of all, finishing the cups and walking back to hand them out before he continued. “You're talking treason. You're still wearing white, Jaime. And yes, I told you often enough to take pride in it, to stand straight and take pride in your past actions. But,” he put emphasis on it when Jaime opened his lips to interrupt. “When Jon does what he will no doubt do rather sooner than later, then Robert will trump Aerys in unpredictability. There is no telling how much he will blow up. I am incredibly grateful for this promise, of course I am, but it's not worth anything to me if your heads aren't on your necks anymore.”

“Robert has no reason to question my loyalty,” Jaime argued and held up a hand when Barristan made a vague gesture with his hand, Arthur got comfortable next to Jaime again. “He'll look to you. He'll look to Adrian who is actively taking some distance from his cousins for exactly that reason. I don't feature in any of Robert's bad memories concerning this whole deal. I wasn't at Harrenhall long enough, I didn't fight in any battles against him and I also wasn't at the tower. I know what I'm doing, Arthur, I promise. This time I truly know what I'm up against. This game won't run me over twice.”

**\--**

The melee was an event during a tourney that had never held much interest in Arthur's mind, nor did more than half of its participants hold much appreciation or respect within him. The smallfolk loved it, it held more excitement than the long-lasting joust. The melee was brutal and violent just for the sake of it, it was no battlefield, it was no duel. It was men fighting to prove who was the alpha on the pit, not something Arthur had ever felt necessary to partake in.

Getting injured to show you could swing a sword? Getting injured for fun??

No, thank you.

In some way, the melee was worse than the whole sell sword affair, at least in Arthur's opinion.

Both times, it was fighting for money.

But the sell swords at least all got their money in the end, as long as they survived, the melee had dozens of usually younger men bashing their heads together and only one had any gain from it. The times where a melee decided Kingsguard or household guard spots were long gone, and he dearly hoped they woud never have to reach for it again.

As it stood, Arthur found himself on the stands during the champion melee anyway, you should when family and friends had joined. Carral and Jace. Young Lysaro and cocky Addam Marbrand. Daemon Sand and Milo. Aurane noted his rather absentminded state of mind about five minutes in and laughed as he leaned closer, “consider it an analysis of the enemy's strength.”

“Do you seriously consider any of them down there a challenge on the battlefield?” Arthur tried to keep it silent but they were sitting so close that it was impossible to hold a truly private conversation.

Andric kicked him in the back and Oberyn and Benjen snickered, both of them had slightly regretted not joining in. But Oberyn had promised Doran to not cause trouble. And Benjen knew perfectly well that Allyria was going to lose it if he put himself into harm's way on purpose without her being at least in the same kingdom.

“Someone who isn't already on our side,” Arthur afterwards, a little flushed over how arrogant that had come out. In front of him Jon and Torrhen hadn't turned around but Torrhen's shaking shoulders were indication enough of how amused he was. “I am perfectly aware that Jace is a formidable swordsman and on the battlefield he can fight as dirty as he wants to, I won't necessarily frown upon it much then.” Aurane rolled his eyes but was also biting back a smile. “Addam Marbrand is just as good, and yes, I consider him standing on our side already. He has a good head on his shoulders, there is a reason Lord Tyrion put him in charge of the Westerland army.”

“And then there was Lysaro,” Aurane chuckled and Arthur had to as well, the odds were either completely in his favor or entirely against him. Arthur wasn't so sure himself. He had sparred against Lysaro, he had seen others spar against him and the boy was incredibly good. He was quick, he was talented, he had strength, he could fight dirtier if the situation demanded it. The boy had no hesitation when he wielded a sword, and he had fought in battles before, especially battles in Essos where honor was not something you found in your enemies.

He was a gem like Torrhen, only slightly older and battle-hardened in parts already.

“I'm curious of how he will hold himself up, aside from Jace no one down there has seen the boy actually fight before. The melee is no sparring match,” especially not during the champion melee, this was no squire round where injuries were to be prevented. Arthur sincerely hoped no one would die today. Hoping it doubly so considering the child he had sitting on his lap, brimming with excitement as they watched the pit being filled with the contenders, men warming up. Jace and Lysaro drawing looks because for once the golden rings on their arms were not only not hidden but seemed to stand out like glittering stars.

“And you never know,” Arthur also needed to get out, grinning when Jon and Torrhen turned around to look at him, “there might always be someone who surprises...” and he abruptly cut off, words getting lost as the last competitor stepped upon the pit and the gate got closed behind him. Arthur could feel, no need to look, how Andric and Larra reached out to hold Oberyn down and comfort him at the same time. He could see how Jon reached to his left and settled a hand on Elion's wrist in just about the same gesture.

His own arms tightened around Arya's middle a little more.

Lyn fucking Corbray.

The entirety of this damned tourney, Arthur hadn't seen the other man, not once. Other non-welcome faces had barely left his eyesight for more than a few hours but Corbray he hadn't seen even a single glimpse of.

“Did you know?” He asked Aurane who was just as zeroed in on Corbray as he was, down on the pit Jace and Carral had made quick but subtle steps over to where Luca had pushed Milo back against one of the walls of the pit. Arthur knew that Andric would feel the same as he did, that burning desire to be down there, too, to give comfort not only to a household knight but also a friend.

Comfort to Lewyn Martell's bastard son.

“Carral or Jace need to take out Milo right away,” Andric mumbled quietly when Arthur turned around to check if Ashara had known that Corbray had been around but his sister looked just as surprised as he felt. “I don't want Milo out on that pit.” Not when this murderer was down there, too, not when the man was down there who stabbed Lewyn in the back like a coward when the knight was already down on his knees.

There was no fairness in battle, Arthur knew that, but when you killed a man you looked at him, you did it face to face, not with a knife to the back. And most importantly you didn't go on boasting about having slain a knight of Aerys' Great Seven to everyone who didn't run fast enough.

There was no discussion to be had though, not about Corbray, not about how the Vale kept on turning up with unpleasant surprises, the melee was starting.

\--

Thankfully, Jace seemed to have understood what was at stake and Milo had to leave the pit in defeat rather soon, looking angry and pale and not well, Andric excused himself immediately. All thought of watching these men's reaction to Lysaro and watching himself how Lysaro would act, it all disappeared because now Arthur couldn't look away from Corbray and that damn sword.

“Isn't it unfair?” Rhaena wanted to know from Torrhen's other side, leaning over to talk to Jon and him both, her eyes never straying much from her father. So far, Jace had made no move on Corbray, neither had Lysaro or Addam Marbrand for that matter. “Lady Forlon was Valyrian Steel, right?”

“Supposedly,” Torrhen muttered, “it's not like he would ever give it up for inspection. And I know what you want to ask, sister, but Valyrian Steel isn't forbidden from being used in the melee. It's just... honor and respect that usually kept knights from using their Valyrian blades in it.”

Torrhen finished just as Carral slipped into the unfortunate path of one of those blades and cashed in a rather harsh cut on the upper arm before hitting the ground hard and immediately tapping out.

And then it was quick as men began to drop out left and right.

Luca held himself courageous until he got defeated by Lysaro who had no doubt by then realized that the man in the Vale blue armor was the real problem in the pit.

Much sooner than Arthur had previously expected the whole melee was down to the last four just as Andric returned to the stands with Milo and Luca but without Carral.

“He needs stiches and a long moment of lying down,” Andric explained after Oberyn had asked, “as does nearly every single one of Corbray's opponents.” Milo and Luca quietly took seats in the row behind Andric and Oberyn.

“Let's hope then that either one of those three down there will take him down,” Oberyn mentioned and they focused back on the pit where Jace, Lysaro, Addam and Corbray remained. “I sincerely regret not joining in right now.”

“You're not the only one,” Arthur added and spared a glance over to the royal stand where Jaime and Barristan were both on duty but also glaring as hard as they dared to in the direction of smug Lyn Corbray.

And then Jace had the joy of facing the bastard as across the pit Lysaro attacked Addam.

\--

It looked good for a good amount of minutes, Jace had no trouble holding his own against Corbray and Arthur was beginning to believe that Jace was actually holding back because of something unknown. Aurane seemed to think the same because he turned to glance over at his oldest brother – everyone had mingled today, the stands were all a mix – and wanted to know if there was some brotherly order put down upon Jace's behavior but Corlyn shook his head.

Something was keeping Jace from going all in.

Because this wasn't Jace at full potential.

Whatever reason Jace had for not fighting full force, he paid for it.

In one second, Arthur was enjoying the game that Lysaro and Addam were playing with each other, in the very next Jace was screaming. Torrhen was lunging even before Arthur had reacted and pulled his sister's against him, hiding her face against his shoulder, Arthur likewise had Arya quickly turned around before either of them could have even gotten a glimpse. When he saw though he was so very thankful.

Aurane was running before Arthur had even completely taken it in and Corlyn was right after him, Lucerys frozen on his seat. There were shocked shrieks all around in not just female voices. Jaime had vaulted himself over the wall down into the pit and was advancing on the scene, quick gestures having Lysaro and Addam stop their dueling, them only then getting aware of what had happened.

Jace was down and there was blood, his entire left side seemed to be covered in his own blood and Arthur could feel his own rushing in his ears.

“Jon.” He called out and his boy understood what he wanted right away, standing up so he could take Arya from him, making sure to keep her line of sight on only him. Rhaena was struggling against her brother but Torrhen refused to give in, she didn't need to see her father like this.

“Arthur, think about this,” Andric was hissing at him when Arthur got up and began to move down the row but Arthur shook his head, he was thinking perfectly fine, and he would not let this stand without consequences.

He hurried from the stand as the whole melee was finally called to a break and he was rushing into the pit just as Corlyn began to hiss at acolytes already tending to an alarmingly pale Jace and Aurane was advancing on an amused seeming Corbray. Arthur knew where he was certainly needed more and he made quick steps to not only catch up to Aurane but also stop him.

“He's not worth it,” he said in a soothing voice but Aurane was livid, struggling against him so that Arthur turned to throw a demanding look at Jaime and that damn white cloak authority. “Don't tell me right now that it's all fair game! This isn't a fucking trial by combat! Look at him,” and he nudged his chin towards Jace who was gritting his teeth, breathing hard and having a white knuckled grip on Corlyn's hand. There was still so much blood pouring out of his leg.

His half carved up leg.

Corlyn's free hand made gestures and Arthur hoped he was calling for Oberyn because that fucking acolyte looked overwhelmed.

“Mighty Dayne for the rescue, isn't it?”

“Shut the fuck up, Corbray,” Jaime thankfully snapped in his direction and then moved closer to Arthur and a still fuming Aurane. “Walk away before I move you off this pitch. You can expect a summons by the Lord Hand soon.” Corbray laughed but actually turned around and began to walk away, Arthur looked at Jaime once Corbray seemed far enough away. “Calm down.”

“I am in no mood to calm down,” Arthur hissed at him and he was perfectly aware how childish of a reaction that was but he was pushed too far, maybe Jace got away with just another scar from this but it could have ended very differently.

“Let me handle this,” Jaime asked of him and Arthur was about to reluctantly agree when Corbray screamed and they all whirled around, Jaime even drawing his sword. They found Corbray on the ground with a dagger protuding from his left upper arm and Lysaro glaring down at him.

“He pulled out throwing knives,” Lysaro snapped out when the silence over the pit became deafening, only interrupted by Jace's harsh groans. “Figured that is against the rules, isn't it?”

Aurane suppressed a scream and finally managed to break free from Arthur's hold on him but in order to bring himself up into Jaime's face. “Fucking handle this,” he snarled out and then stormed back over to his brothers where Oberyn had arrived and was kneeling down to check on Jace's leg.

“I will handle this,” Jaime promised still and then walked over to Corbray and a completely non-bothered Lysaro, Addam had joined as well, picking up Lady Forlorn.

Arthur glanced over to the royal stand and found Robert focused intently on the situation in the pit and Jon Arryn ashen grey in what had to be shame over another scandal for the kingdom he was responsible for. As he walked over to Jace as well, most of all to help move him to where he could be properly treated, he also wondered just how terrified Jon Arryn was now where a supposedly renowned Knight of the Vale had played dirty against the brother of Westeros' new Tywin Lannister.

\--

The melee commenced after a short break but Jon found their stand marginally thinned out when he returned with Arya and Torrhen to watch the final duel. Jace's immediate family had chosen to remain with him, even though Oberyn had already assured them that he was going to be fine after taking it slow for a bit. Corbray had thankfully missed any vital points on his leg. Nevertheless, neither of the Velaryons had a desire to return to the public eye for now – parts of Jon also believed that this was another tactical play of Corlyn's to have Jon Arryn sweat even more.

Elion had opted out of returning as well, as had Rhaena who had by far enough of this tourney now and was more than ready to travel home again. Jon's Pa had returned, fuming and quiet, deep in conversation with Milo and Luca. Torrhen was too silent as well and Jon tried to strategize how to keep both of them from losing it on this tourney ground still.

With Corbray taken out of the competition, only Lysaro and Addam Marbrand remained but the mood had been pushed down a lot, even the smallfolk wasn't that ecstatic anymore. And Jon couldn't help but think that his father's anger had a lot to do with that, the people were more intuned to how he was acting than the king's behavior.

“We need something for them to gossip about that is harmless,” he whispered to Tyene who had joined him now where Elion had chosen to remain in the Dornish tent corner.

“What could bring these people more up their tittering than this drama,” she asked him right back and met his eyes, Arya just then choosing to go back to Jon's Pa, Jace's screams had scared her, she would just never say so. “Jon, this is worse than Harrenhall. The only thing that could top this still is if Robert turns up with a crown of winter roses for the champion joust.”

“That's not funny,” Jon's Pa drily commented from behind them and then focused back on what Andric and Ashara were talking about from either side of him.

“I know that it's gonna be tough to get the tongues wrapped around something else,” Jon told her and Torrhen who was listening in now, too, “but there is something that always trumps over the rivalry between men, even Kings and their old enemies.” And with a small grin, Jon reached towards of the braids that Tyene had created with her hair and tugged one of the ribbons free. “Scandalous love affairs.”

He handed her the ribbon and nodded over to Lysaro warming up again in the middle of the pit.

“The things I am willing to do for you,” Tyene mumbled with a sigh and then got up with an even deeper one, Jon leaned back in his seat with a content smile.

“Don't ever even think about doing that with me,” Torrhen threw in from his side and Jon laughed, watching how Tyene got Lysaro's attention and then waved him over.

“I'm trying to shove the girls off your bed, not at you, Torre.”

Torrhen snorted and then they were both smirking when Tyene leaned down to tie her ribbon to Lysaro's armor, which prompted another round of silence. Something that only lasted when she also tugged him into a kiss, Lysaro went with it, despite looking mildly confused. When Jon looked away from them, he caught Willas' amused eyes across the pit and shrugged upon his friend's briefly raised eyebrows.

Let the people talk about this.

They would enjoy this more than the other stuff.

“I told him not to crown me if he wins,” Tyene announced with a smirk when she sat down again and sorted her skirts, Lysaro leaving to take his place in the pit as the final duel was about to start. “It'll rile that gossip up. They won't even remember fucking Corbray tomorrow. We've already reached Harrenhall disaster level, let's just really dive into it.”

“Thank you.”

Then the fighting picked up again but it was far from the bloodbath that Corbray had wanted to achieve with his dirty tricks. Instead it was a duel now between two knights who were on par with their skills and strength and who also respected each other. Addam Marbrand and Lysaro almost looked like they had agreed on giving the people the show they should have been given before already.

It went back and forth.

So long in fact that Torrhen was soon leaning forward in excitement and a glance over his shoulder showed Jon that his Pa was temporarily at least distracted from his anger as well.

And then Lysaro managed to gain the upper hand for what seemed like the dozenth time but this time he pushed on just that little bit more and forced Addam Marbrand onto one knee, sword up against his neck in a careful threat. Marbrand dropped his sword and admitted defeat.

Lysaro had won.

The people went wild.

\--

When it came to the flower crown, the whole crowd was tittering and whispering and Tyene let her face show a giddy smile full of excitement and fake lovesickness.

“Don't overdo it,” Jon quietly mumbled at her while he watched Lord Renly hand Lysaro the crown of red roses. Lysaro seemingly thanked him and then thankfully rolled with the plan that Tyene must have whispered at him earlier. He didn't walk over to their stand, he didn't even look their way as he determinedly stalked over to the Reacher corner right next to the Royal stand.

The people went silent and confused.

Jon had to bite back a grin.

And then laughter when Tyene let her face morph into shock and outrageousness.

Lysaro climbed up on the wall of the stand and then bowed to a surprised looking Margaery sitting between her oldest brothers. He handed her the flower crown and seemed to say some words as she placed the crown upon her head.

“Wait for it,” Jon prepared Tyene as she balled her hands into fists around the fabric of her skirts, across the pit Lysaro nodded his head at Willas whose complete stone cold face Jon admired in that moment. Willas had to have realized what was going on. “Now,” he gave Tyene her clue as Lysaro jumped down into the sand again. Tyene gathered her skirts and stormed off the stand with flying hair, Jon waiting just that brief moment of everyone snapping their heads around before he hurried after her with a fake glare in Lysaro's direction.

Safely around the corner of the stand and out of sight of everyone, he caught Tyene in a hug and they smothered their laughter into each other's shoulders.

“How long do you think that will last them?”

“Long enough to hopefully get Pa through the joust.”

\--

“Can someone please tell me how no one took care of fucking Corbray in the years since the godsdamn Rebellion?” Jace snarled out and then gritted his teeth even harder when Oberyn set the needle to his leg again. Thankfully nothing was broken or too severely damaged but it needed immediate work done anyway so they had coralled into Oberyn's tent, them meaning Andric, Oberyn, Corlyn and Jace. “He is arguably more deranged than fucking Clegane or Lorch could have ever dreamed of becoming in their stupidity.”

Andric exchanged a look with Oberyn, he couldn't help but agree with Jace and he hated himself for not including Corbray on the list they once made when Doran, Oberyn and him were sitting in the oldest's solar one dreary night a few moons after the end of the Rebellion. The list of wanted revenge and justice. Not many names remained by now, some crossed off because they had gotten their revenge, some crossed off because others had let justice happen for them.

But Lyn Corbray had never stood on that list.

He should have, for all accounts, he should have stood on it.

He had turned a traitor during the beginning time of the Rebellion.

He had cowardly ended Lewyn's life after Oberyn's uncle had fought and finished off three men at once despite being badly wounded.

And if even a spec of gossip was true since then, than Corbray was preying on little boys now, was letting his deeds be rewarded with boys.

“How a pig like that got to be knighted in the first place is a puzzle to me,” Jace kept on ranting because it distracted from the pain, despite Oberyn's quick intervention this injury would leave a long scar. On many it would look frightening, but on Jace it could barely add to the danger level various previous battle scars or injuries were already portraying. Aurane and Jace might share their recklessness and tendency to seek trouble instead of avoiding it but where Aurane was vain enough to shy away from noticable scars – and used fancy potions on the few he had gotten after all – Jace didn't share that character point.

He _looked_ like a man who had won and lost his fair share of confrontations.

“If uncle hears about this, he'll yell himself into a headache again,” Corlyn mused calmly, his voice was calm but beneath that there was a storm, Andric could see it easily. As different as Corlyn and him had been in their younger days, they were so very similar in one thing now, no one hurt their family and got away with it for long. Arthur and Aurane had already chosen to walk it off together once the melee had been finished, too angry to even think about discussing this matter.

Andric hadn't even cared enough anymore when Arthur had come to them and announced that Lysaro had won, and that Jon and Tyene were knee deep in their secret plots again, looking out for all of them as they always did. If Jon thought he had things under control for the time being then Andric could stir in his anger and prompt Corlyn to do the same but there was a blow up soon to happen and Andric even had a good guess on where it was to come from.

Not him, not Corlyn, they would pull on their strings behind the scenes as they always preferred.

The young ones wouldn't dare.

But Arthur and Aurane were pushed too far. Both of them had reached their limits and there was no telling what was to come now where they couldn't calm each other down anymore.

“The Vale is getting too unpredictable,” Corlyn said when Jace leaned back against him again to breathe through another round of pain. He had resolutely refused milk of the poppy and Andric didn't have any energy left to wonder what that was all about now again. “Something needs to be done. This is absolutely unacceptable.”

“What do you wanna do? Stage a coup so they are too busy infighting to bother us?” Oberyn wanted to know, tone not very serious as he focused on his task.

“Wouldn't be too far fetched, now, would it?”

“Those bastards are too damn loyal to Jon Arryn.”

“Then maybe the old man finally has to die.”

Oberyn stopped and Andric snapped his head up to stare at Corlyn, even Jace had forgotten his pain now, blinking at his brother and thank god, Arthur and Aurane weren't around for this.

“I am sick and tired of Arryn's incapability to get this mess under control,” Corlyn raged, because as calm as his tone still was, he was raging. “Or his unwillingness to do so. I don't know what would even be worse between those two options. The whole realm is spinning out of control, something _has_ to happen. Now. Either we do something, or Jon does. Before the Blackfyres do it for us.”

\--

While their brothers lost themselves to discussions, Arthur and Aurane had sought out someone else to talk to as the tourney attendants got ready for another victory celebration. The little corner of the tourney grounds where the Rogares had thrown up their tents with the disguised Company men that remained with them was in good spirits. No surprise when their golden boy had won.

Lysaro himself was swept away by the usual suspects though, which meant that Maegor had greeted them alone and asked them to make themselves comfortable.

“The first time I stepped onto Westeros, it didn't look much different if I am being honest,” Maegor said, answering a question Arthur had posed after they had switched their smalltalk to some more in depth topics. “Different king, same mess. Unhappy highborns, unhappy smallfolk. Stupid ideas to solve problems. My uncle tried marriages first, and when his children didn't cooperate he blew himself up.” Maegor summarized it rather brutally and Arthur scrunched up his nose.

The Tragedy of Summerhall had always been a sore point with the Targaryens he had known, Aerys and Rhaella had absolutely refused to talk about it, so much pain and trauma still in their bones. He had personally never liked talking about it with Rhaegar because it had drawn his friend into deep bouts of silence and dark thoughts. Aunt Rhae had sometimes talked about it a little, in a soft voice and sad eyes, she had lost a brother and a sister that day, and maybe they hadn't been close anymore but family was family. And next to her siblings, she had also lost nephews and a niece and their families.

“That's not how I remember it,” Arthur said hence and Maegor gave him an apologizing look but he also shrugged. It was probably fair that he kept his non-chalant opinion about it all, those who had perished in the fire had never done him any favors.

“Mh, was it really that different? My mother, she used to tell me that seeing Aegon take the Iron Throne would have been Maekar's worst nightmare.” Maegor revealed nothing new to him, half the bloody Seven Kingdoms knew that King Maekar would have never wanted to see his youngest son following him on the throne. Maekar had deemed Aegon useless even after the man had married and become a father on his own. “'Thankfully you had a son, so I don't have to worry,' the last words he said to her before he made for Starpike. Two sons lost to death then, one lost to oaths and one useless. I wonder what he was thinking about when he was dying, if he had any last thoughts.”

Arthur had the same wondering thought about Rhaegar.

“I wonder how our world might have looked like had he survived,” he wondered out loud though and couldn't help but imagine a very different world. Maekar would have set both feet down and chosen a hard course for tradition, the heir of his heir. No one else for the throne.

“I once asked Grandma that,” Aurane revealed and gave a soft smile, “and she told me that though what ifs can be dangerous, her father would have never allowed Aegon to take the throne.”

“When I talked with Aemon at the Wall, he told me that his father once told him that the only one of his children he could see following him was Rhae.” Arthur recalled with a smile, as much as Maekar's children had quarelled with each other at all times, everyone had loved Rhae. “That was before you were born, Maegor.”

“His children didn't do him a lot of favors. Something that Aegon should have learned from, instead of running into exactly the same problem.” Maegor showed his opinion, the only Targaryen family he had ever met after his mother had taken him into exile was Princess Rhae. Daella's and Aegon's lines had lived on in ignorance of his very existence, as had Daella and Aegon himself until their deaths. Arthur couldn't imagine a family like that. Neither Princess Daenora nor Maegor himself had ever done anything to have been treated that way. “And where his father remained his stoic self, Aegon went off the cliff.”

“And they called your father the monster,” Aurane mused and Maegor gave a bitter nod, “but at least Aerion didn't take others with him when the madness took over. Aegon's folly caused the death of so many.” It wasn't exactly true that Aerion's final act of utter madness hadn't hurt others, Floryn Dayne had died only days after him due to the catasstrophic burns he had suffered trying to save Aerion. But Floryn had made a choice after the act had already happened, no one who had set foot into Summerhall that day had had any idea over what Aegon had had planned.

Arguably though the biggest consequence of Prince Aerion's unnecessary death was that the Tragedy of Summerhall could have happened in the first place.

“I wouldn't dive too deep into what ifs though,” Maegor told them both with a chuckle and leaned back in his chair, “if history had happened deeply, things might have been wildly different for you two. Rhae would have still planted her fingers into giving her niece to Lord Dayne but Aurane, you might have not even existed.” Aurane snapped his head around and raised an eyebrow, his grandmother had always cherished him and never even blamed Lucerys for the step he had made into some woman's bed in Essos. “If Maekar had remained on the throne and raised me as his heir, Rhae would have never turned her back on her family. Lucerys and Laenor would have grown up much closer to the royal line. And until I would have had children of my own, Lucerys might have just been the spare Maekar could have chosen.”

“You think he would have thought twice of fathering a bastard or even risking it,” Aurane finished that thought and scowled a little, Arthur laughed and squeezed his hand.

“Something I do know is that Maekar would have never allowed the mess that Aegon's children created in our real history,” Maegor said with a slight shaking of his head, “I don't see that happening in any way. Maekar was always known for being strict and demanding that his children act to the position they were standing on. He could have cut Aegon off from the line of succession, given him Summerhall or some other keep to appease him as King Daeron once basically did with Maekar himself.”

“Aegon's children would have become unimportant to the throne though,” Arthur got from it and Maegor nodded, “he couldn't have come up with some intricate bethrothal plans to make peace with the highborn lords, he wouldn't have needed to, he wasn't housing heirs to the crown anymore. Duncan could have married his Jenny and no one would have started yelling. Jaehaerys and Shaera wouldn't have been able to get married though because Maekar despised... oh stars, Rhaegar would have never existed...” He got it at last what Maegor had been going for and Arthur blew out a breath, “well, that's a rosy vision now. No Rhaegar, no Aurane.”

“Still seeing a white cloak on you though,” Aurane brought his mood up again though with a cheeky grin, “Maekar cherished the Daynes, your whole family would have grown up so much closer to the crown. I doubt he would have lived long enough to see you born but there is no way you wouldn't have still been called to King's Landing at one point.”

“Let's not dwell too much on what could have been and focus more on what is and what will be,” Maegor set their path down again and Arthur shook his head to free his mind. “I am watching with much disgust how this child King is again and again trying to rile you up.” Arthur sighed and set his eyes on some books for a moment.

“He won't succeed,” he answered quietly and Aurane made some strokes of comfort down his arm. Maegor watched them with a smile but also worry, he was a man who saw a lot more than people maybe even sometimes wanted. The way he had grown up had given him much insight into people's hidden thoughts and feelings.

“That speaks more for your character than it does for him,” he concluded and Arthur gave a snort over it. “I know that I grew up differently and that affairs are certainly handled differently in Essos, especially in the big cities but a man like Robert Baratheon wouldn't have long stood in power.” He would have never even got there, Essos was more cuthroat than bloodlines and councils. True power in Essos meant more than just gold, it was leadership and strength, not just of body but of character as well.

“My brother says that your people purposefully put Harry Strickland in charge of the Company when he is more of a coward than Baratheon even.” Aurane gave his thoughts and Arthur looked back at him and Maegor who gave a smile that was more secrets than comfort but everyone was allowed their hidden plans. Not every card needed to be revealed just now.

“Strickland is a puppet,” he gave them something to work with though for once, “and puppets are better when they don't think too much on their own.” Didn't Arthur know that, sometimes the whole bloody Kingsguard had felt like a puppet show under Aerys. “And I never described Baratheon as a coward, he isn't a coward, he is lazy, fat and arguably getting stupider day by day. Arthur, you have to see what this is leading to. If he doesn't get this confrontation he wants from you, then he is gonna seek it in a grander spiel once Jon has declared for himself.”

“There will be war,” Arthur put Maegor's words into a shorter sentence and the older man nodded, he also knew what Maegor was getting at, he just didn't like it. He would never like the idea, no matter how helpful it could turn out to be in the long run.

“There will undoubtedly be war. And though I do not fear for Jon's chances against the fat king and his unloyal army, I do fear for the chaos that could _follow_.” The stakes had indeed changed since their trip to Pentos, the books had been rewritten once more. “You cannot lead a war on two fronts without terrible losses. The Seven Kingdoms are as divided as they haven't been since the Dance of the Dragons and it is exactly **that** what we're going to get.”

“Only one side has dragons this time.”

“That remains the truth,” Maegor agreed with Aurane's input, Arthur saw though what the real issue was, “but Jon will not strike down with dragonfire on his enemies until he has no other choice. The boy isn't cruel, he stands for justice, not murder.” He wasn't his grandfather, he was his father. He was no Maegor I, he was Aenys. He was Jaehaerys I, not Aegon III. He was Daeron II, not Aegon IV.

“He also knows that one mistake, one single ounce of misplaced trust can lead to terrible tragedies,” Arthur also put into perspective that most people only ever saw the peaceful side of Jon, they saw a candle's flame controlled by ice. They never saw the fire hidden behind those steel walls, and dragonfire could melt everything. “He will not use Starfyre to burn down the capital, let alone some random castle but he will use the dragon to protect his family. Jon isn't weak, he is smart. Still, I also agree with you, the Baratheons on one side and the Blackfyres lurking in the shadows on the other, it's not great odds.”

“Win one war, face the other right after while still licking your wounds. It's not a good prospect.” Aurane said as well and wiped a hand down his face, he like Arthur saw what Maegor wanted and he didn't like it much either.

“You need the Company.”

And there were the words.

“Maegor...”

“I know you have good reason to have doubt, Arthur, and please don't forget what I myself lost to Blackfyre Rebellions.” He had lost the very rights put into his cradle. “If it hadn't been for Bittersteel, I would have become King.” If it hadn't been for Bittersteel and the ever looming threat of war, the Great Council would have been more inclined to vote for tradition instead of a grown up king to lead their battles. “But I also need to say that if it hadn't been for Aegor, I would have died a long time ago. And even Aegor regretted that he fought for so long for something that Daemon wouldn't have wanted, his realisation came too late, don't add your own to that terrible list. My goodmother controls the company, Strickland and hence all the Captains are dangling from her fingers and she is only waiting for the right man to be ready to take the strings from her. We have good people in the Company, people that I know Jacaerys would leave a good word for. And those good people only need someone to lead them who has the right purpose for them.”

Oh.

“Lysaro,” Aurane gasped then and Arthur saw it as well, plans unraveling, the edges of a plot that had surely been in the making since before the boy had been born.

“He's been born for this.” Maegor explained and he looked so incredibly proud of his son, who was good, who had the right head and heart, who acted with kindness but who could also use that sword to fight. He hadn't won the melee without good reason. “In a different world, Jon would have grown up Aegon's little brother. The King's little brother who stops being heir the second a son is born, who can lead a life of freedom or duty, whatever he chooses.” Arthur wondered if Maegor had ever thought about a life like that in Westeros, to be the son of the secondborn. To be just one Targaryen prince among many others, a great family around but no great duty or choking responsibility. “But Lysaro's path has always pointed straight towards gold. And coming home hasn't been the men's mantra in a long time, their home is with each other, out on sea, out on the battlefield.” Aurane and Arthur exchanged a look, they both knew what strong bonds those kind of brotherhood had. “But their purpose remains the same, bringing the right dragon back on the Iron Throne, the color simply changed. Convince Jon to ally himself with the Company, so that _we_ can fight against the Blackfyres while he takes his throne.”

“I don't hold power over Jon's decisions, he will have a Council...”

“You're his father, Arthur. Sons will always listen to what their fathers have to say.”

Rhaegar had seen that wildly different.

\--

During the evening festivites, Tyene enjoyed the awkwardness of people around her greatly, much to Jon's amusement and her sister's annoyance. Lysaro snatched himself a dance with her later on and they laughed over this whole scheme.

It was a joyous occasion until she sought out some air later on, Ghost being all the guard she needed to have a private moment away from the others, and she found herself approached by the timid girl she had previously already asked about the mystery squire. The young serving girl who had travelled to this tourney with one of the Lords from the Vale made wide eyes at Ghost but nevertheless came closer when Tyene assured her he wouldn't do anything.

“You said that if I found out anything more about this strange boy, I should come to you.”

Oh, what a little promise could do.

“I did,” Tyene told her and smiled, “just like I told you that I can help you get away if you're treated badly.”

It would be a surprise if she wasn't, employed by the Corbrays as she was.

“After what my Lord's brother did today and what I overheard between him and my Lord, I do not wish to work with them any longer.” The girl confessed and she was afraid, Tyene could feel her blood start pumping.

“What did you overhear?”

“House Corbray is plotting with House Blackfyre to usurp Robert Baratheon. This boy, the mystery squire, he's supposed to become the new King. They call him Aegon of Tyrosh.”

And there, the noose dropped around Jon's neck.

\--

On the next morning, Arthur raised an eyebrow when Jon appeared by his side, dressed in squire armor and holding the saddle to Arthur's horse. Glued to his side like she had been ever since her father had told her that she was to foster with her uncle Benjen and her aunt Allyria for a while, Arya was beaming, her hands holding the neatly folded cloak of the Sword of the Morning.

“Did I teach the wrong squire for the last years? You went back on wanting to officially squire about a fortnight in,” Arthur reminded them both because it just hadn't fit Jon, he had wanted to learn and they had found other ways for it. Arthur reached out quickly and swept a giggling Arya up into his arms, “And I don't remember acquiring a page either.”

“Torrhen could not be derailed from his belief that Ser Barristan's squire is only gonna embarrass him so he bailed on you for one of your toughest enemies,” Jon gave the announcement in a quick summary and if Arthur wasn't so amused by it, he would be a tad bit angry. But father figure ruled over blood uncle any day. “And frankly, after what happened, I wanna be with you today.”

“Jon, everything is gonna be alright.” Arthur soothed his worries away or at least tried, he knew perfectly well that Jon was too aware of things nowadays. Arya was too happy to help to bother with their serious talk, so Arthur picked her up and set her down on the low wall outside the stables where he had decided to get ready before walking over to the small tent assigned to him for the day.

“I still wanna be here,” Jon insisted and got to work on Arthur's horse while he turned his back towards Arya so she could swing the cloak around him and get to fastening it to his armor.

“I couldn't be luckier then,” Arthur decided and blindly reached up to help Arya with the right clasp that was rebelling more these days than it was working. “If we make it into the last round, you're gonna help me pick someone to crown.” He announced to both of them and leaned his head back to share a grin with Arya that Jon didn't catch.

“Aurane and I are on it,” Jon explained and then turned around again when he was done saddling Vino, “we'll make a good choice.

“_Of course you are._”

If only he hadn't already made his own choice concerning potential flower crowns but Jon didn't have to know that.

\--

“Jon?”

He looked away from where he had been fetching some apples for Vino and something to eat for his Pa while they waited through the long time of jousts in the beginning where it took an hour sometimes before you went again. He spotted Tyene hurrying towards him with a face that promised nothing good.

“Hm?” He wanted to know as eloquently as he could while chewing on some grapes, Tyene grabbed his arm and pulled him further away from people, Jon's arms loaded with fruit.

“The Vale boy from yesterday?” Tyene whisper hissed at him and Jon raised an eyebrow, chewing faster, prompting her to go on with mimical gestures alone for now. “He wasn't a Vale boy at all.”

Nearly choking as he swallowed a little early, he quickly looked down and then dumped his gathered food into some random basket lying around at the back of the tent outside the stables where squires could grab whatever they needed. He also whistled and Ghost appeared from behind the tent flaps, better privacy they wouldn't get this fast.

“What do you mean?” He asked of her, thoughts falling over each other as he tried to make sense of what Tyene had to be implying, he had known from the start that this boy was weird, that something wasn't right about the whole thing. The squire's disappearance right after his victory over Jon had only proven that.

“That boy was Aegon of Tyrosh!”

“You mean...”

“The Blackfyre Pretender,” Tyene explained like that was actually what Jon had been after and he blindly reached out for a table close by and then sat down upon the edge of it. Legs suddenly feeling like nothing, head spinning, one part of him wanted to go and seek out Torrhen immediately. He needed Torrhen for this, this was not something he even wanted to start thinking about alone but Torrhen was probably with Barristan still, the lunch break had only just started.

“Here? Right among us? Where is he now?” Jon croaked out because this couldn't be true, they couldn't have been this brazen. How far had their plans advanced that they could take such risks.

“No one knows,” Tyene told him gently and moved closer, wrapping her hands around one of his, “he vanished. There is no sign of him anymore.” Her touch was soothing but Jon needed a different kind of comfort in that moment, he fucking needed Torrhen or his Pa and this couldn't be happening.

“How long have you known about this?” He asked because he needed more information, he needed to make sense of this, his mind needed stuff to work with before he actually started to panic.

“Since last night,” Tyene revealed and he wasn't even mad that she had waited until now to tell him, why had everything turned into such a mess, “but I didn't want to bother you with this until you've gotten some rest. He's gone again, what change does one more night do then. And you're worried enough about your Pa as it is, and Torrhen's... shall them call them nightly adventures... aren't given you the sleep you need.”

Yes, Jon was tired.

He was tired of things getting messier by the second.

He needed a plan, he need to do something.

Alright, deep breath, focus, Jon.

“Find Torrhen and Quentyn,” he told Tyene who straightened up again and let go, realizing when he needed actions and not cuddles, “and tell Torrhen to find Domeric and Robb, I'm gonna find Vaemon and Lysaro.” He stood up again as well and then grabbed his basket, Arya was perfectly capable of feeding Vino and be company to his father, maybe if Edric crossed his way Jon could ask him to help her.

“Jon, what about Willas?”

Tyene's question stopped him in his tracks.

“I can't.”

“Jon...”

“I can't, Ty.” He repeated himself and pushed his free hand through his hair and then even dragged it down his face. “I desperately want to, believe me. I trust Willas and yes, he knows the truth now but he also just lost his Father. I have to leave Willas to sorting out the Reach for now, I cannot heap even more secret issues and agendas upon his shoulders. I don't want to imagine what that sister of his would do if she knew, let alone Olenna Tyrell.”

“Flirt her way into becoming the Blackfyre Queen?” Tyene proposed sarcastically and Jon grunted, he didn't like Olenna Tyrell and Willas' sister was the kind of girl that Jon wanted to stay far away from, especially once he had declared his throne aspirations.

He wouldn't invite that kind of toxic manipulations into the heart of his circle.

Tyene, Rhaena and Alyssa were already playing enough games.

But theirs at least were all for him, and not against him.

“Duh,” he hence gave Tyene in a response and shook his head. “Willas needs time to grieve in the little time he is given to be by himself, he is the Lord of Highgarden now, Ty. Warden of the South. He has the entire Reach looking at him. He already guards the secret identity of one dragon, I can't make it two.”

“But this is about more than just you,” Tyene pointed out and Jon threw her a look, he was more than aware of that, everything he had ever done had always been more about just him, “you told me that Willas is aware of what is growing in Essos.”

“He's aware that something is happening there but he doesn't know for sure it's the Blackfyres, and he really has other things to worry about right now. I can't put more on his shoulders.” He could barely take anything more upon his own shoulders, his Pa wasn't the only who had reached his breaking point, only Jon still had Torrhen to keep a level head. Aurane was unfortunately pushed too far to the edge since Jace's injury to be the steady rock in the storm for Jon's Pa.

“But where is the danger in revealing to people about the black dragon? They don't know you _exist_.” Tyene argued but Jon shook his head, by now he wouldn't be surprised about anything anymore, the Blackfyres were far too much ahead in their plans than he had previously thought them to be.

Who truly knew now what they knew and what they didn't.

“And what about people finding out that one line of dragons remained hidden but alive for so long and then deciding to dig around for remnants of the main branch, too?” Jon pointed out and Tyene grimaced, finally getting his point. “Get Torrhen and Quentyn, let them get Robb and Domeric, and then actually,” he sighed and walked out of the tent, Ghost immediately at his heel, “try and find Rhaena and Alyssa. I'm getting tired of them always complaining that they are being left out after I scoured the place for them for hours. But don't tell them anything just yet. I don't want Torre or Quentyn to do something _stupid_. And I want even less that Rhaena _tells_ Torrhen to do something stupid, or that Alyssa works her fake innocence on Vaemon.”

This tourney couldn't get over fast enough anymore.

\--

And as Tyene and Jon broke off in different direction, it were Ashara and Jace who had the honor of revealing the truth about the vanished boy to the other adults.

None of them were happy about it.

\--

“Lysaro?” Jon called out and waited until he turned away from the group of young men he had been talking with, Jon quickly nodded to a secluded corner and Lysaro followed him wordlessly. “The boy who won the squire joust? Who crowned Rhaena?”

“Yeah, what about him?” Lysaro wanted to know, drawing Jon into the tent they had gone closer to, only now Jon recognized it as Lysaro's own, a quick gesture of Jon's hand made sure that Ghost remained outside and made sure they were truly undisturbed.

“He wasn't a Vale boy,” Jon started up and his heart was still pounding, mind racing with the information, “Tyene asked around, and I havent gotten down to how she found out about it yet but the who trumps the how for now. It's _him_, Lysaro, it's Aegon Blackfyre.” It felt surreal still to even say it, let alone realize how close he had been to someone who would want him dead, dead, dead, he would see him as the greatest enemy to a fucking lie.

“Who have you told?” Lysaro surprised him with a quite sharp reaction though and Jon made a shocked step back as the taller boy crowded too close for comfort.

“As far as I know only Ashara, Jace, Tyene and I know,” he stuttered out, thrown off course by Lysaro's hard tone, “I don't know if Ashara and Jace have told others yet but Tyene hasn't.”

“Okay. Then drop it,” Lysaro told him and Jon narrowed his eyes at him, shaking off the surprise and replacing it with frustration, he was sick and tired of people treating him like a child.

“Excuse me?”

“Jon,” Lysaro changed his tone when he must have realized how he had pissed Jon off, “I have men with me who are stealthy, discreet but also know how to fight if it comes down to it. And more importantly they aren't bound to any kings or lords here. Don't you think that the Blackfyres took precautions? They wouldn't just let their precious prince run around Westeros without the best guards they could buy, and in lack of golden banners that would be the Second Sons right now. What do you think is gonna happen if you stick your nose into this and they find out who _you_ truly are? You're gonna lose your head faster than you can see the sword coming. Faster than your wolf, let alone your dragon could save you.”

It frustrated Jon, but he knew that Lysaro was right.

Nevertheless he couldn't accept it just then. Sending someone else to do tasks for him because it could be risky for anyone else, it tasted wrong. He had no authority over the Company men, not yet anyway and maybe even never, but having someone send them off to find other sellswords... and everything happening at least half in his name... it just didn't sit right with him.

“And you think **your fate** will be different?” He held against Lysaro's argument who snorted, he knew that it wouldn't be any different, and contrary to Jon's existence the Tyroshi Blackfyres even knew about the other female branch of their House.

“The difference between you and me, Jon,” Lysaro now calmly explained and already set to arm himself, “is that I have four years on you. My sword has seen blood while being wielded by mine own hands. I've seen battles, I've won battles and I actually like fighting, and hells, I even like defeating my enemies.”

_Rhaegar never liked killing._

And neither would Jon.

Torrhen was to take that place, Torrhen was the warrior, Torrhen liked the violence, the blood and the chaos.

“One day,” Lysaro continued and took off his cloak to let daggers disappear into hidden pockets, Jon got dizzy watching him, “I'm gonna take my father's sword, the sword of _our_ shared bloodline, and I'm gonna take lead of ten thousand men. My great-grandfather's golden legacy for me, the Iron Throne for you. We'll both play our parts for good of Westeros, and this here is mine.” Lysaro made clear and Jon took a deep breath, knowing that he had to accept his friend's choice, regardless of how helpless he felt over it.

“Alright.”

“Thank you.” Lysaro told him and stepped closer again, less threatening now, “we are going to count on each other, Jon. I have your back, you have mine. I don't want any piece of what you desire and neither do you of mine. Let us work together. Now, let's go and explain to the hotheads why they can't do anything.” Lysaro grumbled the last piece and grabbed his cloak again, Jon chuckled and followed him out of the tent.

“Are you including the girls?” He wanted to know as Ghost looped back to his side and Lysaro waved three men closer whom Jon had seen often around him during these last days, all of them wore golden bands.

“Jon, I have five sisters,” Lysaro deadpanned and glanced over to him, “I wasn't talking about any boys.”

\--

The usual suspects weren't very happy when Jon explained that they would place uncovering this problem into the hands of Lysaro and his men. In fact, Rhaena stormed off the second Jon had stopped speaking and Torrhen grumbled to himself for the next hour.

The adults took it with acceptance, probably happy to have one issue off their backs while they worried themselves gray over a dozen others.

Jon settled on sticking to Torrhen's side for now and letting him rant while he himself came to terms with having to wait in the unknown. It was a lesson he had to learn for sure, a king wouldn't be able to go investigate himself later on, people would do things for him.

It wasn't easy.

\--

In light of other people taking charge of the wrong colored dragon problem, Arthur chose to ignore that part of drama in his life and concentrated on the one facing him rather directly ahead.

Namely, the competition in the champion joust.

“No,” Richard called out and made some wild gestures at Benjen who rolled his eyes, Arthur simply watched them go off for a moment longer, sitting outside his tent, waiting for the time being for the next round to start. “That guy is never going to pass the next round. No way. Have you seen him on that horse? Your daughters could push that man off of it, Ben.”

“He went quite far in Harrenhall.” Benjen argued and he at least was sitting down, no wild gestures from him just yet but he hadn't been much help in actually analysing the situation either.

“That was more than a decade and a half ago,” Richard was still up in flames over one of the men that Arthur was possible to face in the next round.

“Which was about the last time any of these folks saw me jousting and still everybody thinks I have a chance of winning this,” Arthur mentioned in an off hand comment, briefly stopping in wiping down his riding boots. Edric and Arya were hopefully getting along with Vino in the meantime, and if Vino showed his temper and Jon needed to intervene it was maybe a good distraction to Jon's frustration over the whole Blackfyre situation.

“Oh, shut up, Arthur,” Richard snapped at him and waved his words away like some unruly fly, “I can't use your fucking humbleness right now.”

Fucking humbleness, if only they knew how it looked on his inside.

That fucking humbleness was the only reason Arthur wasn't going around choking people by now.

“Oh,” he also rejoiced in some memories, eager to keep both younger men away from the dark in his thoughts that weren't circling around jousting, “the times where I could banish you to polish armor for that language.”

“Long gone.” Richard drawled and Arthur rolled his eyes, long gone indeed, and it wasn't like Richard the boy had listened to half of what he had been saying back then in the first place. Myles had been the obedient one, Richard had like to rebell on purpose. “Come on, Ben, I'm not taking those odds. Give me something better.”

“Are you two betting again?” Arthur just then realized and let his outrage show by dropping his boot, Benjen at least had the decency to look sheepish.

“What if?” Richard though had no problem with being honest about his plans, facing Arthur with the same stubborn set of his jaw that he had already had as a boy of one and ten.

“I'm trying to get some actual serious discussion going here about my bloody competition and you're just focusing on your betting pool.” Arthur let his frustration show and Richard and Benjen looked properly brought back to earth after just one tiny outbreak. “You could have signed up for the damn lists yourselves if you wanted gold.”

“Allyria made it abundantly clear that she is to be present if I ride in any lists,” Benjen made his excuse and Arthur accepted that any day because no one crossed his sister more than once. Allyria was not one you angered and not regretted it immediately afterwards.

“And I just wasn't feeling up for it,” Richard said and Arthur raised an eyebrow at him, none of that was certainly making sense but Richard didn't give him any opening to start digging into his real reasons when he right away jumped into a true analysis of Arthur's competition.

A few minutes later after Benjen had added his observation as well, Arthur felt so pleasantly reminded of times where Oswell and Rhaegar had done the same with him.

“If I were you, I wouldn't worry until my opponent is wearing a white cloak,” Richard gave his final assessment and Arthur hummed, he still wasn't as convinced as they were of him reaching the final rounds. “The Celtigar guy is good but you're better. The Northern one lacks experience greatly for obvious reasons. Jaime and Barristan are the ones to look out for but you knew that already. Jaime has obviously only gotten better over time and he is more over frustrated with life and his situation enough by now that he has the right drive to get some additional energy into things. Personally I think that Barristan has the overwhelming motivation though, he'll want to finally crown Ashara but Barristan has age going against him and you know him so damn well to know where old injuries could be used against him. Which he does know about you, too, though. Same reason on why direct jousting duels between Rhaegar and you always went on for fucking forever, you knew each other too damn well.”

“Finally,” Arthur breathed out a sigh and Richard scoffed at him, already ready for another rebuke but instead Arthur stood up and walked over to him to ruffle his hair, “I now remember why you were my squire.” He laughed and then moved away to get back into his armor.

“I wasn't your squire.” Richard called after him but Arthur barely heard him under Benjen's loud laughter, “I was Rhaegar's!”

“He wasn't the one who taught you how to sit a horse, Richard!”

Forget that competition talk, Arthur was going to find Aurane and choose comfort over preparation.

\--

“Do you think she really didn't like this guy?”

Jon's question was met with silence and some of the residents of Torrhen's and his tent throwing looks his way. Two hours after news had been revealed, Rhaena was still nowhere to be found and whereas the adults insisted on giving her space because Holden wasn't around either, Jon and Torrhen saw it differently. While most of their friends had gone back to their days in the breaks between the jousting rounds, Torrhen was fretting over his sister, pacing from one end of the tent to the other.

Jon was preferring to grow his worry in silence and stoic stillness, sitting cross-legged on his bed, the only others still hanging around were Edric, Alyssa and Elia.

“She doesn't have any reason to lie to us,” Elia reasoned, together with Edric she had gotten comfortable on Torrhen's bed, Alyssa had chosen a chair. “She felt just completely betrayed by what this guy did. She is angry, Jon, she isn't heartbroken.”

Then why couldn't Jon shake off the feeling that Rhaena was so much more affected by this than even him.

He was the one threatened by this boy's agenda.

And his stomach was also doing some confusing flips whenever he thought back to the secret meetings that Rhaena had unknowingly had with Aegon of freaking Tyrosh. The conflict must have shown beautifully on his face because Alyssa raised an eyebrow at him, Jon shook his head, he was fine. Just confused over his own feelings.

“She just needs time, boys.”

“Time to what?” Torrhen grumbled out and finished another round around the tent, Shadow and Ghost were watching them, Nymeria was stuck to Jon's Pa and Jon didn't know who found it more hilarious that _Arya_ had decided he needed to be watched. If a girl of eight namedays realized that Arthur Dayne was so close to losing his shit, things were really tough going. “Time to deal with her anger in privacy? That has never been Rhaena's style. Running away the second we learn who this bastard was and then hiding away, it reads completely different to me.”

“Would it be the end of the world?” Alyssa threw into the round and the only one who didn't shy away from meeting her eyes was Jon. “Let's just say that maybe there is a small part in her that likes this boy a little more than she would ever admit. She knows perfectly well that it can never be. Those... potential feelings will get away. She is not gonna run away to join some wanna be prince.”

And without the others spotting it, Alyssa reached out to pat Jon's knee.

He looked at her and raised an eyebrow but she only gave him one of those small smiles that Rhaena could do so as well. He wondered if she had realized something about this thing that he had been quietly fighting over for a while already, but how could she... if even Torrhen was blind to it no matter how often Jon had tried to approach the topic with him.

One thing was sure, leading a war and a Targaryen restoration would be easier than figuring out his own heart.

And then the tent flaps opened and Jon's Pa stepped inside with Arya hanging from his arms and Barristan following him.

“Looking for a squire or two to do their jobs.”

\--

As Jon and Arya took Vino to be brushed and fed after another successful round, Arthur took a moment to find some quiet corner where he could take off armor parts and stretch his limbs. Unfortunately for him, even that tiny piece of peace wasn't granted to his frayed nerves.

Quite on the contrary, the end of the line had come.

The line of patience.

Arthur had just taken off his chestplate and rubbed at some sore spots when rough hands manhandled him around and then slammed him up against a tree with enough strength to force the air out of his lungs for a second or two.

“Isn't this nice,” Lyn Corbray sneered from behind his yellowed teeth, “Holy Dayne all alone.” The one time that Arthur didn't carry any weapons because he had been hesitant over falling onto hidden knives. The one bloody time and of course Corbray fucking approaches him like the coward he was. “Shall we see how brave our Saint Arthur is with no one around.”

“You think I need guards for myself now, Corbray?” Arthur snapped back because Saint Arthur the calm had been kissed goodbye to sleep days ago already.

“I think that you are still carrying yourself like someone you aren't anymore. You can't fake a white cloak, Dayne, not even you.”

Alright, Arthur thought to himself and balled his hands into fists, piss me off more, just dare it and see what it brings you.

“You think you deserve one? A white cloak as payment for what deeds? What honor? You're a knight who didn't deserve his knighthood, Corbray. Who broke every oath he had ever sworn by everything you have ever done. Your skills are basic at most, it's the sword that is giving you victories, not the other way around. No king in their right mind will ever even dream about giving you a white cloak.”

Corbray roared in anger and Arthur had just enough time to react as the other man lunged for him, he drew his fist back and then swung. He connected hard and Corbray dropped back like a thrown log, Arthur flexed his fingers and breathed out, slightly horrified over how much tension this act of violence had taken from his very core, suddenly he felt like he could breathe easier again for the first time since stepping onto this tourney ground.

Jon was going to be mortified.

Then there was a white cloak in the corner of his vision and for a split second Arthur didn't even give a shit over who it was, whether it was a familiar face or someone who could really mean trouble. He wanted to hit in some teeth. When that brief thought had passed though, he reasoned himself into stepping back from Corbray still curled around himself on the ground.

He turned to his right to face whatever Kingsguard had found this corner and was then in parts relieved and in parts filled with shame for his actions when he made out Jaime's rather surprised face.

“What the hells is going on here?”

Corbray groaned and Jaime rolled his eyes, raising an eyebrow at Arthur.

“I don't appreciate being slammed against trees.”

“Can't even take a joke...”

“Shut up, Corbray, I have had more than enough of you,” Jaime snapped and then dragged a hand down his face. “I can't believe my days anymore,” Jaime sighed to himself and then reached down to haul a once more smirking Corbray to his feet and then placed himself between him and Arthur. “Before someone does something...”

But it was Arthur himself who was too fed up with the talking solution of everything and acted before Jaime could finish. Knowing where Jaime kept at least one dagger hidden because Gerold had always insisted on it and old habits died hard, Arthur lunged for the blade at Jaime's hip and then within another blink of the eye he had Corbray pinned against the tree trunk, blade shimmering in the sunlight at his throat.

“Arthur...” Jaime warned behind him but Arthur chose to ignore him again, pinning Corbray to the tree with not just the threat of a knife and a bodily force.

“Don't for even a second think that the last years took away any of my strength,” Arthur snarled out and the fear rising into Corbray's wide eyes it didn't bring forth shame in him for once but delight, he wanted this snake to realize that enough was enough. He had never been a coward, being quiet had never meant just taking it all and bending down for more hits. “I can still beat weaklings like you into the dirt without even blinking.”

“Arthur, take the damn knife down before someone sees this,” Jaime hissed at him and pulled at Arthur's right arm, “come on, this isn't like you.” Arthur let himself be pulled back but kept a hold of the dagger for now even when Jaime scoffed at him over it, Corbray didn't move, not even so much as a twitch of a finger.

“I've always been a far better man than you, Corbray, and the years since have only raised the cliff between what you think you can achieve and what I _know_ I already did.

“Is that why you're so quickly reaching for threats?” Corbray angrily demanded and finally moved by bringing up a hand to rub at his jaw, he would be black and blue tomorrow hopefully. And stars, it shouldn't feel so good but it did and his throbbing hand was screaming for more instead of guilt.

He needed Aurane, he needed Aurane fast before he lost himself even more.

**\--**

“What the fuck happened to you?”

Aurane jumped up from where he had been resting a little in front of their tent and threw a quick confused look to Jaime before focusing back on a completely unhinged looking Arthur. Hands twitching at his sides before he threw caution to the wind and pulled his love into an embrace, holding onto him when Arthur dropped his head against his shoulder.

“Lyn Corbray,” Jaime answered and Aurane knew his eyebrows went up too high to not hurt a little, “he punched Lyn Corbray.” Aurane gaped at Jaime and then tightened his hold on Arthur. “I'm gonna head back, make sure his head is back on his neck when the jousting starts.”

“Will do.”

He watched how Jaime left and then tugged Arthur into their tent, raising an eyebrow in a silent question, Arthur grimaced.

“At least it was Corbray, huh? Could have been worse, and I actually feel better than I did before.”

Hilarious.

\--

“You know we can't always choose who we love.”

Rhaena looked up when her grandfather's voice spoke up rather close to her where she had sought some quiet alone time during another break in the lists – a contestant had fallen so unlucky that the barrier between the lanes had been broken and needed to be repaired now. She had walked to a corner behind the stands, sat down on a hay ball, watched of course, as expected Holden wasn't so agreeable anymore to let her wander off alone.

Her uncles, her father and of course her stupid brother had made it so.

Now though, Holden took a step back when her grandfather made a simple hand gesture before sitting down next to her.

“And if there was ever one thing your parents had in common before they had you then it was their ability to always carry their hearts on an outstretched palm. Jace and Ashara love fast, intense and with all they have to give. Now, I can't tell where your mother gets it from, it certainly wasn't Beric or Eleana, but I do know that my son gets it from me.” Her grandfather phrased it like a confession and Rhaena furrowed her brows when she looked at him. “I fell in love with your grandmother the first time I met her. And after her death, I fell very quickly and very hard for Aurane's mother, too. And before both of them? Oh, you'll never forget your first crush, my child, especially not if they're forbidden.”

“There was someone before grandmother Crivina?” Rhaena let her curiosity win out over the vehement arguing that she wasn't in love with that frigging idiotic coward. Her grandfather chuckled, looking off towards the treeline in the distance, little smile on his face, he looked so much like her father then.

“Oh, there was, there was,” he chuckled and his eyes were so far away. “Nothing ever more than a fancy, I have to say though for both our sake's. I was young, not much older than you were actually, and she was seven years my elder but she was beautiful and kind and so incredibly forbidden.” He laughed in the end and Rhaena wrecked her head around potential names. Who could have been forbidden for the King's nephew? A smallfolk girl?

“Who are you talking about?”

“Her name was Vespasia Rogare. A sister of Magister Nero.” Rhaena just so refrained from gaping because that came as a surprise. “I had met her when my mother had taken Laeno and me along to visit aunt Daenora. It couldn't have been more than a year after Bittersteel had died. Maegor indroduced me to the Rogare family and Vespasia was a sight for a young boy like me.” If she held any semblance to the beauty that Maegor's daughters possessed Rhaena didn't doubt her grandfather's fascination one bit.

“But... why was it forbidden?”

“You know our history and the damage that the Rogares had caused in Westeros,” reluctantly enough she knew all about it, Jon just couldn't stop his questions sometimes or swallow down his curiosity, and everyone had to suffer in another suffocating history lesson then. “And the firstborn son of the current head of the family had just a few years ago married Bittersteel's daughter. Aegon would have fallen off his chair if I had proposed a match, my father would have hung me from the sails. The King's nephew marrying a Rogare? Way too soon.”

Rhaena couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't still too soon. Allying themselves with the Rogares might be a good move for Jon, to get support, most of all against the Blackfyres. But a Rogare born Queen for the Seven Kingdoms? People might frown too heavily over it. Jon's Queen needed to come from within Westeros, just preferably without much of that Andal blood.

“But you were so far down the succession line already... Aegon had sons of his own, he had a grandson. Daella's sons were fathers already.” Rhaena pointed out, unable to grasp onto the meaning that her grandfather wanted to go for with this. “No one would have seen you close to the throne.”

“It was a different time, my sweet. We've been through three Blackfyre Rebellions, we've lost nearly half the royal family to the Great Spring Sickness and its consequences.” Her grandfather gently reminded her and Rhaena once more had to think of now, Jon was the last son of the main branch, the last holding up a bloodline that had once sent sons off to the Citadel because there just had been too many. “When King Daeron sat the throne, no one blinked at any dangers of not finding an heir. He had four sons, three of those had children of their own, Maekar even six. Thirty years later, all four of those sons were dead, most of their children dead and the fourthborn son of the fourthborn son was sitting the Iron Throne. Every son of the line was suddenly important for the succession.”

“Essosi partners didn't do us much favors, huh?” Rhaena grimaced as she recalled just then that it hadn't just been the Targaryens who had suffered under the Rogare downfall. “Whether it be Targaryen or Velaryon.”

“The problem, my darling, is that our ancestors married them for the monetary strength or political influence.” Her grandfather set the words down in stone like the judgement they were. “You can't marry for money and prestige and not expect to invite some backstabbing into your house.” He had a good point but sometimes waiting until you could marry for love wasn't what you could do either. Jon was the last of his line, he couldn't let his heart ignore duty until love was calling, no matter how much he might prefer it.

“You're not gonna talk about the allure of Valyrian blood?” She also asked and her grandfather snorted, him, coming from that family where Valyrian blood was stronger still than the Targaryens had had reasons to claim in the last century.

“It's a notion that brought Aerys nothing but tragedies and pain, and it cost us a dear friend. If he had let Rhaegar decide whom he wanted to marry, it might have taken a few more years but we could have avoided a lot of loss and violence.” She wondered whom Rhaegar might have picked, would his eyes have still fallen upon Lyanna Stark if history had been so different? People had told her often enough that before meeting Lyanna Stark, Prince Rhaegar's heart had only ever beaten for her uncle Arthur and the sole child he had until then had.

How would their world have looked if King Aerys hadn't pushed his son into marriage? If there had been no match with Princess Elia? If all of this pressure hadn't made Prince Rhaegar so darn unhappy?

“I'm not in love with Aegon of Tyrosh.” She also clarified for what felt like the hundredth time, she was beginning to feel like people were wanting to convince her of the contrary.

“And I'm not saying that you are, Rhaena, but I want to give you a warning that your heart might not even know yet what it really feels for that boy. He impressed you, I can see that much, he definitely made a lasting impression.” Her grandfather poked a little into the wound that Rhaena was so hard trying to ignore.

“I didn't want to be crowned by him,” she ground out between her teeth and it was the absolute truth, she hadn't wanted to be crowned by anyone but her father, she hadn't wanted the attention. Least of all had she wanted the attention and scrutiny that she was getting now.

“And still you haven't thrown away that crown and you also kept the flowers he gifted you beforehand,” her grandfather revealed and Rhaena felt herself flush, “I heard Torrhen and you argue about it yesterday.”

“It was a gift,” she argued, because it had been and she had been taught manners, “it would be insulting to throw them away. It's also just pretty flowers.” And the flowers weren't to blame for what this boy had done, they hadn't chosen to be used in a stupid plot.

“You know what will happen when Jon announces his intentions, don't you?” Her grandfather changed the direction of their conversation slightly and Rhaena frowned over it, went to answer easily enough anyway.

“We will have war against Baratheon and another one against the Blackfyres,” she told him and her grandfather nodded, it was weird how easy it was to accept it. She guessed it was harder for the older ones like her grandfather to deal with, maybe even for the generation of her father. When Barristan had slain Maelys the Monstrous on the battlefield, everyone had thought that this would finally be the end and here they were again.

It had to feel like a defeat, as if all those years had been for nothing, all those battles and wars and loss for nothing.

She hoped that Jon could make a change, that he could have this ended for good.

He would add himself to the too long line of Targaryen Kings whose reign included a war, but she hoped it would remain one, that maybe his children could finally break that terrible curse.

“Yes, and you'll become a trophy.” Her grandfather surprised her with his next choice of words and Rhaena blinked at him, she doubted that her father had made enough enemies already to let her become a worthy trophy to some sellswords from another company. Could men hold grudges that desperate and deep? Her confusion must have shown because her grandfather went on and rarely had he looked this serious. “Alyssa and you will become trophies of war. The perfect hostages. I'm not sure that Baratheon will see it like that, his son is too young and his advisors mostly too dumb, but the Blackfyres? Valyrian brides with Targaryen blood? Well raised highborn daughters to marry to their little King to be?”

“I won't say yes!”

“Even if they dangle the lives of your family above your head?”

“I...”

That was a cruel thing to ask her.

“Rhaena, you need to be careful now. That is all I want to say.” Her grandfather clarified and took her hand, squeezing gently. “No more running off alone, and certainly no more secret meetings with boys of questionable origin. Your brother is overdoing it a little with his protection but he means well. You don't have a personal guard for nothing.”

“I have a dragon to protect me.” She argued and thought back to the temperamentful beauty waiting for her back home, her amazing girl. Contrary to Starfire and his long list of people he had accepted and actually cherished in their family, Sonara had truly only bonded with her. She could tolerate Jon's presence and Torrhen as well usually, and also thankfully Holden but the rest was better off keeping their distance if she wasn't around.

Sonara would protect her.

Always.

“And what happens if you do get kidnapped? Will you turn Sonara on them? Have them burn?” Her grandfather painted her the picture, and randomly Rhaena remembered that Princess Rhae had been the first Targaryen who had stopped placing dragon eggs into the cradle of her children. Not because there hadn't been any anymore but because she hadn't wanted to. “Have you burn with them? Watch this boy burn as your heart decides it longs for him after all? Because history taught us well that that is something you cannot come back from whole.”

“That's cruel,” she said but also straightened her shoulders, hardened her jaw and stuck her chin out, her mother had laughingly told her that gesture was by far the most 'Jace thing' she had about herself, “but if it means I am protecting my family then I _might_.”

Maybe you didn't come back from such an act whole but your family came out of it alive.

“Good to see you _are_ your father's daughter. Keep my mother's fire, my sweet, we're gonna need it.”

“Grandfather?”

“Hm?”

“The daggers you gave Alyssa and me, you said they've seen blood before.” She pulled hers out of the pocket that her mother had sewn into every dress she owned since her uncles had taught her how to fight with knives. “That they could draw the same blood again now if we need to saveourselves... whose blood did they draw?” She handed her dagger to her grandfather who took it with a smile and smoothed a finger over the blade.

“They were created out of the arrow heads that killed the twins of Daemon Blackfyre on the Redgrass Field,” he mentioned it like it was no incredible thing, like it didn't mean she had been carrying such a loaded piece of history around all the time. “And it was my grandfather who fired them. I will not lose my granddaughters to a black dragon, Rhaena. I'd rather dry their tears later after they took a life in self defense.”

“I won't let myself be stolen away.”

There was a dragon she wanted... on the throne but it certainly wasn't Aegon of Tyrosh.

“Will they have any chance of winning?” She asked then, a shiver running over her back at the thought of it. She had been so young when they had needed to flee Volantis but sometimes she still had those nightmares of screaming in the dark, of running through empty corridors, of feeling terrified in brought daylight with no danger in sight. Sometimes she dreamed of sitting in a beautiful colorful garden, peaceful and quiet, until it all changed from one second to the next into pure chaos.

“No, my child, they won't,” her grandfather spoke so very convinced and strong, leaning down to kiss the side of her head. “If all else fails, Jon and you can change the outcome with one word. Is it cruel to end an army in dragonfire? For sure but I'd rather see my family alive than fighting fair.”

And so she saw it as well.

_Dracarys_, Rhaena whispered inside her mind, how interesting that one word could change a war if only used in the right voice.

\--

When the champion joust came down to the last four contenders, Jon and Arya got sent to the stands to watch it happen from there and not the sidelines. Arya went to be with the Starks and Jon joined Aurane and their families, squishing himself in between Aurane and Benjen. Torrhen remained down on the pit's sideline for Barristan, one hand making sure that Barristan's young squire wouldn't topple down the barrier he had climbed upon to see more, there seemed to finally be good terms developing between them.

Ser Barristan was up first, against a Westerlander knight whose name Jon had forgotten again, as smug as Torrhen looked this nameless knight had no chance anyway.

“He had a lot of luck to get so far in the first place,” Uncle Benjen confirmed the assumption for him, “the group he started in was the weakest.”

As loved as Ser Barristan was by the people, his round was not the one the majority of the people, especially the smallfolk was fired up for.

Because after Ser Barristan had either defeated his opponent or gotten defeated by him, the jousting pit would see Jon's Pa facing off against Jaime Lannister and Jon himself couldn't wait to see it.

The old White Knight of the People against the new one.

As was true to expections, Barristan didn't take long to defeat the Westerlander at all, the whole thing was done in three lances and Jon didn't think too much into this being the first time since Harrenhall that Barristan Selmy rode in the final round of a champion joust.

\--

After the lanes were cleaned up again, Arthur once more took his place at the startline, lance in hand and mind focused entirely on his opponent. Jaime and him might have wished for this to happen just for the fun of it but it didn't mean they wouldn't both take it seriously and also give their best so they would continue and not the other one.

They had never faced off in any tourneys before but they knew each other well, younger Jaime's hero-worship meant he had observed Arthur's style and skill often enough and he in turn had not randomly made a choice that day outside the Kingswood.

This could get interesting.

\--

“Is this how it felt to watch Arthur and Rhaegar?” Jon wanted to know after the seventh lance had been broken on either side and neither rider looked closer to losing strength or balance. Watching it was so much more boring than participating.

“Rhaegar and Arthur were by far worse,” Aurane answered him in a deadpan, “they could go on for fucking forever. I still remember the last time we were at a tourney in Storm's End. Completely convinced to this day that Arthur let Rhaegar win after twelve lances because the crowd was falling asleep.”

\--

Change of plans, Arthur thought to himself as he accepted the ninth lance and turned Vino back around, this was getting ridiculous.

There had to be some way he was getting Jaime off that freaking horse.

Screw away all ideas about having fun and not wanting to be painted a coward and just humbly show this damn fat King he was still a damned fighter.

Fuck that.

He was not going to lose to Jaime.

\--

“This looks different,” Aurane commented as Jon' Pa and Jaime got ready for the ninth tilt and Jon had to agree because even without seeing his face beneath the visor, Jon could tell that his father had changed his whole stance. He looked as if he was out for something, even Vino had lost the ever familiar shifting that didn't mean he was anxious but instead ready to go. Now, Vino was so calm.

“I think someone finally remembered how much he hated losing to anyone who wasn't his best friend,” Ashara laughed and Jon leaned forward when the horses were allowed to go. He kept his eyes focused on his father, didn't even dare blink and it was beginning to hurt by the time the riderscame upon another.

Once more both lances hit home but this time it ended differently.

Both lances broke.

Both riders wildly struggled to remain in the saddle.

And only Jaime fell.

“Wohoo, final round, here we go.” Richard cheered and Jon raised his eyesbrows when his uncle Benjen silently muttered over it “couldn't have been one less round” while he clapped as well. Down in the pit, Jon's Pa had turned Vino around and then jumped down to help Jaime to his feet again.

\--

After one last small break, it was time for the finale of the champion joust and Jon was more than just happy that his father was not only in it despite his own doubts over it – him meaning his father, Jon had never doubted it – and that he was up against someone who was respecting him and who wouldn't reach for unfair methods to win.

The only one who looked torn up as he stood on the sidelines was Torrhen as Jon was quick to notice, he surely was beating himself up now over not having chosen his mentor to help for. Jon also knew though that his Pa wouldn't be angry over it, that he had understood and that Arya, Edric and him had all jumped together to help.

“I'm curious now what's going to happen,” Oberyn commented from behind Jon, “Arthur has finally found his hunger again but Barristan has the burning motivation.” As a reaction to Oberyn's snickered words, Aunt Ashara actually flushed.

“I think Unlce Arthur's motivation right now is to finally stick it to everyone that he isn't a coward,” Rhaena mused and cocked her head to the side, “might just triumph over love yet.”

“I don't know,” Alyssa joined in as well from Rhaena's side, “I think we've seen plenty of times enough that love can conquer a lot if not all. And for the second time Alyssa then threw a look to Jon that seemed to tell him way too much, this time he quickly looked away from her but didn't miss how her smile turned itno a knowing grin.

Luckily for him the jousters were called to get ready then becaue Aurane had certainly caught onto that exchange between his niece and Jon and had been in the process of elbowing Jon to get his attention. It was forgotten though when both knights down in their lanes set themselves to get started.

Over in the royal stand, Robert Baratheon looked like a grumbling fat pig, glowering in the direction of Jon's Pa as he always did, not evenr realizing that his wife seemed to asking him something and that his youngest brother jumped in to help. Sitting behind the King and the Lord of Storm's End, Stannis Baratheon simply looked incredibly bored.

\--

After eleven lances, it was over.

Both of them hit their lances home and both struggled to remain upright.

But only one fell.

Arthur Dayne.

More than a decade and a half since Harrenhall, Barristan was the last man standing.

And it was no surprise, no scandal, no miracle that his first look went to Ashara.

\--

Jon was grinning when Barristan rode to accept the crown of pink flowers from Lord Renly who looked shaken and nervous enough after everything that had already happened with the damn flowers in this tourney. But nothing outrageous was to follow this time, Barristan took the flowers and immediately turned his horse back around, he rode in a straight line over to the Dornish stand and carefully dropped the crown into Ashara's lap.

“I declare you my Queen of Love and Beauty.”

The people cheered and clapped and even damn Robert Baratheon smiled.

Rhaena helped her mother set the crown into her hair and then Barristan and Ashara shared one last long look before he turned his horse away and rose over to his squires who welcomed him with grins.

The crowd, still touched and happy, turned their attention towards Jon's Pa who had gotten up again and was in the process of getting back into Vino's saddle. A hush swept over the stands and the smallfolk on the ground when Lord Renly reached for the second flower crown, as if everyone had suddenly remembered that there would be another one.

Had suddenly remembered that there was potential for a scandal still.

Jon's Pa calmly rode towards the royal stand, Robert's eyes were focused on him and only him now, the challenge in them clear. Everyone was watching, baited breaths and frozen limbs, how Arthur Dayne stopped his horse and accepted the flowers from an ashen gray Lord Renly with a small smile before he urged Vino back towards the middle of the jousting lanes.

“What's he doing,” Aurane whispered a mere blink of an eye before Jon could, eyes set on how his Pa began to tug single flowers out of the delicately arranged crown. “Jon, what is he doing?!”

“Is he taking it apart?” Uncle Andric was wondering just as quietly and whispering began to rise up among the crowd but Jon's Pa was calmness itself. Carefully and skillfully he tugged on the small yellow flowers before he had a couple of them free and still in one piece without seemingly damaging the crown at all.

Then Vino was brought to movement again and Jon's heart was pounding.

What was his father doing?

Aurane and him had only before the last two rounds talked to him about the many safe options they had come up with, all of which would still set a sign.

This wasn't going after any plan they had made.

Caught up in panicking, Jon almost missed it then.

One moment everything was quiet and then suddenly in the next the smallfolk was exploding with cheers and applause and crying out for “our Ser Arthur” and Jon's Pa just perfectly happy continued to hand out his singled out flowers to girls among the smallfolk. All of whom looked ready to drop dead with surprise and happiness.

“Oh,” Aurane made a sound of realization as Jon began to smile so hard it nearly hurt, “that's a smart idea but where does the rest go?”

Where does the rest go to indeed.

Once every lone flower was handed out and the smallfolk was loud enough to deafen out approaching armies, Jon's Pa let Vino carry him towards the stands where the Northerners had mixed with the Riverlanders. Arya was already jumping up and walking to the divider with a grin, a knowing grin, a grin that said she knew exactly what was happening.

Jon's Pa had made plans of his own.

“We never needed any reason to be afraid.”

“No, we didn't.”

Jon had just finished those words when Arya accepted her crown... brought it to her mouth and took a bite out of the flowers before Robb could have reacted and lunged for her. As it was the whole place seemed to laugh as one in pure joy and amusement and even Uncle Ned didn't look angry or ashamed, sharing a smile with Jon's Pa.

“Lyanna would be proud,” Benjen said quietly, unspent tears in his eyes and voice, and Jon grinned at him, briefly closing his eyes when his uncle drew him close.

“Elia would be, too,” Oberyn spoke up as he leaned closer from behind them and Jon smiled, watching with a proud heart of his own how Arya tugged a flower out of the crown for herself before she climbed up on the chair on her knees. And with some little help of Domeric Arya set the crown of yellow and orange flowers onto Sansa's head.

Quickly taking a seat again, while Sansa still blinked and softly touched the petals on the crown, Arya grinned up at Jon's Pa and he could see how his Pa nodded at her before turning Vino away and riding off the pit.

In his chair, Robert Baratheon sat stunned.

\--

“What was that?”

Arthur laughed as he turned away from patting Vino' neck, moving to face Aurane and Jon who were approaching him with smiles if slightly surprised eyes. He quickly thanked one of the stableboys for taking over his horse in lack of his squire being useful at this very moment and then pulled Jon and Aurane a little to the side so they could talk in privacy.

“A sign,” he answered Jon's question and then quietly sighed in gratitude when Aurane began to loosen his armor, if there was one disadvantage over not being twenty anymore then it was that you felt that armor after a while. And with no battle hype to counter it, it was getting exhausting faster.

“I don't get it.” Jon had picked one of those rare clueless moments and this one didn't even involve girls, Arthur noted with some humor. “What kind of sign?”

“Title it 'White Knight Reborn.'” Aurane thankfully had understood where his head was at and he leaned in for a quick kiss, Jon's eyes lit up and he began to grin a little, gone was the ever evading shifty eyes. His boy had made a decision, he just didn't seem to want to talk about it much on this tourney ground.

Smart kid.

“That's an interesting way of staying on the sidelines, Pa,” Jon also noted down with some hidden smirk in his voice but Arthur shrugged, reaching out to tip a finger against Jon's chin.

“I think we're about done with that, ain't I right?” He asked and Jon's face smiled in all the answer he needed, it still brought on some fear inside of him but Arthur knew that pride was overshadowing it by now. He couldn't wrap the kid into wool all his life, Jon had made choices and it was time to help him achieve his goals instead of always protecting him from everything.

“Maybe.” Jon once more didn't outright say what his eyes already showed but Arthur could wait, a little at least yet. “Why Arya though? I thought you didn't want parallels drawn to Ma?” Well, she was so much more than just Lyanna's niece who resembled her so much though. Unspoken, she was definitely Arthur's favourite niece, even if picking favourites was maybe a bad move in that field. Arthur loved all children in his family but Arya had just simply stolen something of his heart a little more than the others had.

“You wanted a risky move,” he said and Aurane raised an eyebrow at him, “I wanted the drama to stop, this bound both together.” Always a man of compromise. Always. “Risking Lya's memory be brought up again but keeping it safe by crowning my niece... nieces thanks to Arya's decision not to eat the whole thing.” Arthur explained and stiffled a chuckle upon remembering the look on Renly Baratheon's face when he had asked him yesterday if the flowers were good to eat. Poor guy had probably been imagining the whole last night that in case of victory Arthur might just shove it all down his own throat in front of Robert.

He was also glad that Arya had not chosen to eat it all and instead gone with her second idea. Lady Catelyn would forgive Arthur one flower but not the whole damn crown.

“I can't believe she actually did that,” Aurane mumbled rather absentmindedly, to no one's surprise and Lady Catelyn's probable private horror, Arya and Aurane worked absolutely perfectly together. Arthur had no doubt that though Allyria and Benjen were definitely going to take over the brunt of the fostering, Aurane and Arthur himself were definitely going to spent a lot of time with Arya.

“See,” Arthur began and loosened another clasp on his left shoulder, “while you two have been so busy discussing with each other on how to do this the best way, I simply got it done with one conversation. And it was Arya's idea to not eat it all and instead give it to Sansa.” Jon looked equally surprised and stunned, he was the last person who would underestimate his favourite little cousin but he apparently wouldn't have expected this of her.

“I hope Robert stops it now and doesn't make another scene.” Aurane pleaded with a look thrown back towards the jousting pit, Arthur leaned against a wooden pillar of the little shed that the stableboys used to take a break.

“If he makes a scene about this, he'll upset his best friend,” Arthur pointed out rather drily and Jon snorted, it wouldn't exactly turn out to be a surprise if he did after all. Robert was nothing but unpredictable.

“That's true.” Aurane agreed with him and tried to fling an arm around Jon's shoulders who edged away though because he knew Aurane only wanted at his hair. “Lord Stark seemed rather happy.”

“And the smallfolk was more than just happy,” Jon had no doubt observed it closely, Arthur felt the warmth in his heart again, this feeling of seeing all those true pure smiles, seeing that light in their eyes go so much brighter still. “They have their white knight back.”

“I think,” Arthur spoke up with some mystery hopefully shining through in his voice, “there is someone else who has their white knight back as well, hm?”

It wasn't as scary as he had once thought it might feel to speak those words out loud.

To become that person again, even if only in his head for now.

That white knight hadn't died with Lyanna after all, he had only slept, and it was so easy now to imagine the cloak on his shoulders white again.

He hoped Jon saw it similar.

“Maybe.” Jon kept his cards to himself still, always so careful, “I'll wait until we're... back home to make any announcements.” He explained and it was surely also due to wanting Torrhen at his side, nothing would happen without Torrhen.

“You two,” Aurane sighed and pushed a hand through his hair, Arthur and Jon both turned to look at him, “you two and your hinted secret plans.” Confused looks became smiles and Aurane made a 'see there' gesture with his hand but also used that same hand to grab onto Arthur's when he held it out towards him. “You would drive me crazy if I wouldn't love both of you so much.”

Jon was the first who moved but took the other two right along and Arthur closed his eyes for a long beautiful moment when he could draw both of them into close. Years ago when this had all started, Aurane had been the only one who had rested his head against his shoulder, now Jon was right there as well on the other side, and still it felt like it had all these years ago.

As if for just that moment nothing could ever hurt them.

\--

“Feels like it's too good to be true.”

Ashara laughed and leaned her head back against Barristan's shoulder, for her this felt real, it felt like finally getting something she had once dreamt of. She didn't care about the many eyes watching them, she cared even less for what those people could be thinking. To her only this moment counted, Barristan leading her over the dancefloor, the crown of purple flowers in her hair.

“Feels like it should have happened the first time around,” she answered him after a moment and Barristan chuckled, his steps secure.

“Rhae has asked me again if I can see myself turning my back on that white cloak,” Barristan also revealed quietly to her and Ashara let her eyes seek out her daughter in the crowd. Rhaena had originally refused to show up, fed up with everything but it had been Jace who had convinced her to go after all, that he could rest on his own as well. “I told her that asking Robert now would send a wrong signal but that I was more than ever thinking about it.”

Ashara pulled back a little and searched light blue eyes, “you know you don't have to do this, right? We are a family, Barristan, I don't need that on paper. You don't have to give up the white to be ours, to be mine.”

“I know,” he told her and smiled, the warmth in his eyes was enough to sweep away even the coldest day, “I know. But I will not have my family used against me or me used against them. I know what I have to do, Shara.”

But for now they danced the night away.

\--

And then it was over, this grand tourney of chaotic mess and kingly temper tantrums.

They left in the afternoon, right away on the second they were done taking down their campside, nothing had the Dornish envoy spent even one second more in the presence of a king who despised them. Together with them some Crownlanders, most of all almost the entire Velaryon family left as well, made for Summerhall where their paths would depart again but it made for one last chance to get together without any preying eyes on them or listening ears.

Added to it was a small group of Northern guards who would protect Robb and Domeric as they accompanied Arya to her new foster home and also happily spent some more time with their friends and uncles.

It was freeing to leave the tourney grounds and shake off the paranoia and the hatred and the mistrust that had laid over the lands of Storm's End right from the beginning, something that had only worsened after the still unexplained death of Mace Tyrell. Jon threw one last glance over his shoulder as the forest began to swallow them up, one last glance towards the now distant Storm's End and the hills around it. He knew for certain then that the next time he would set a foot upon it, he would be fighting a war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


	9. Epilogue – Jaehaerys Targaryen, Son of Dorne

_Feel free to re-read the last scene of “Step by Step” again before diving into this epilogue_

“Alright,” Torrhen called out as he stepped out onto the top of the old tower, the one still almost intact that Summerhall had to show for itself. He was still almost fully armoured up and Shadow looped out from the staircase behind him. “With your decision made, there is something I've been meaning to do for a while already.” Jon looked away from the lit up courtyard and the people talking and laughing in it to glance over to his cousin. “We're playing a game. I'm calling it a King's court. Let's start with most important. Your Hand.” Torrhen began and leaned back against the cracked wall of the North Tower.

Jon blew out a deep breath and straightened his shoulders, Ghost nudged at him so Jon scratched him behind the ears while he answered. “Elion.” The first one was still quick, “Don't even have to think about it. He will always be my first choice.” There wasn't a single scenario in which Jon didn't want Elion at his side as this future for him unfolded, he had been grandfather when hadn't needed to be one for him, he had taught him so much.

“And if he says no?” Torrhen wanted to know, turning his head to the side to better look at Jon, Shadow and Ghost curled up on the ground together. “Better have a fall back choice, Jon.” Torrhen pointed out and Jon chuckled himself through a shudder, causing Torrhen to scoff at him.

“It's scary when you sound reasonable.” Jon teased but he also knew that it was an option that Elion could say no, he had lost so much to the Iron Throne. “Well, I could ask Doran, Uncle Andric, or Uncle Ned but they all have responsibilities for Dorne and the North respectively, I don't wanna take them away from it, let alone have Arianne and Robb be left shouldering the duty before they are ready. Griff then, he is no stranger to the position.”

His Papa and Aurane wouldn't be so happy about that choice probably and there was no telling if Griff even wanted to go back to being Hand but Jon wanted people around himself he could fully trust. He wouldn't hand out favors by placing supposed allies into positions of power to buy their loyalty, it had gone wrong too many times in recent history. He would not invite people to his trust who already carried the knife to stab him in the back.

“Master of ships.” Torrhen went on with it and Jon stroked Ghost behind the ears as he looked over to the lights of the camp where he hoped no one was wondering yet where he went. He had just wanted a moment with Torrhen alone, had needed to clear his head. The revelation he had shared with Robb and Edric and him out on the hill overlooking the distant King's Landing had been true, and it had been the right moment to say it out loud not only to his own self in the mirror but to Torrhen most of all, and Robb and Edric being there had only made it better.

Jon was ready.

The short side trip that they had been allowed to take while the others had made straight for Summerhall, had been exactly what Jon had needed after the tumultous days of the tourney. Just the four of them and silence when he wanted it, upon returning now Robb and Edric had promised they wouldn't say anything and Torrhen and Jon had slipped away into the North Tower.

“Lucerys,” he also answered Torrhen's unspoken question, as if there would have been a surprise in it, Torrhen even smiled upon Jon's deadpan look. “Aurane remains Lord Admiral of the Royal Fleet and once Lucerys thinks he cannot fill the role anymore, Aurane can take over. With Aurane and maybe Jace leading the fleet Westeros' coasts will be safe.” Especially safe from whatever might be coming from the East, Jon still felt sick when he recalled Lysaro's and Lord Maegor's words, about this foul game those bastards wanted to play, Varys at the helm of everything.

Felt sick when he thought about the cockiness this fake Aegon had portrayed on the tourney grounds.

How he had played with Rhaena.

“Longrun planning, you've really thought about this more than you admitted before.” Torrhen mentioned and cocked up an eyebrow, Jon shrugged, not really inclined to talk about it at the moment. He knew very well that a part of him had been thinking about it all since the moment he had found out about Rhaegar being his blood father. “Jon, come on...”

“Torre, not now.” Jon insisted and Torrhen gave in, moving to sit down on the ledge next to him, Ghost and Shadow realized they were not moving for a good while and curled up on the ground, content to keep watch as always.

“Fine.” Torrhen accepted and switched to keep playing his game then, this little game of thrones, the thought set a smile upon Jon's face. “Master of laws?”

“Depending on what he does once I raise my colors, that one could be reserved for Stannis Baratheon.” Jon slipped his gaze over to watch Torrhen's reaction before he had even spoken the name and his cousin didn't disappoint, staring at him for a good long moment before he muttered a short and completely surprised, “Really?!”

“A seat on my small council,” Jon began to list down what he had come to prepare as conditions or offerings, he had talked to Aurane, asked questions about the man residing unhappily on Dragonstone and he believed he understood Lord Stannis a little bit. He wasn't sure what the others would think about it but truth be told a King didn't always have to make decisions that appeased everyone, sometimes he had to put his foot down as well. “Small council, Storm's End, Shireen legalized as his heir, to carry the name Baratheon even if she marries, _that's_ gonna be my bargain.”

“What's Aethan gonna do with High Tide?” Torrhen gave a laugh but his eyes showed that he was impressed with Jon's choice and had no obvious arguments held against it right then.

“If Aethan's infatuation with Shireen really holds than Corlyn can give High Tide to Jace,” Jon proposed because he really didn't necessarily care about one lonely castle on Driftmark right this second. “Or wait until Vaemon's children are old enough to carry their own castles. Fuck, give it to Alyssa.”

“Master of coin,” Torrhen sighed and pushed a light right foot against Shadows head to get the weight off his left foot, the wolf huffed and reluctantly moved.

“Griff. And before you ask, if he becomes Hand, I'll have to think about it again.” Jon was quick to push against whatever Torrhen's opening mouth had wanted to imply. Sometimes it was that because they knew each other so well Jon led arguments nearly by himself because he could anticipate Torrhen's points and punchlines. “Maybe this could be a position for Tyrion Lannister, too. Elion speaks highly of him since his visit to Casterly Rock.”

“Master of Whispers.”

“Your mother.”

“My Ma?” Torrhen drew back in surprise, lips even slightly open for a moment, and Jon raised an eyebrow in an equal measure of surprise, confused over Torrhen's reaction.

“Women have been Master of Whispers before.” He pointed out because if it came down to him he sincerely didn't care over whether or not a position on the small council would be filled by man or woman, they needed to be capable. It was only due to the delicate sensitivities of Westeros' highborns outside of Dorne that most of his small council would be men.

For now.

“Are you comparing my mother to Lady Misery and Tyanna of the Tower?” Torrhen wanted to know with a little affront coloring his voice a bit snappish but Jon scowled at him.

“No,” he deadpanned and felt a bit insulted over his friend even thinking he might, “I'm not comparing her to anyone. Pa has said that Rhaegar would have chosen Ashara for the position as well.” Jon's sire had no doubt been even more paranoid over being able to trust people than Jon was now, and entrusting someone with such a delicate position as master of whispers, it could only go to someone one trusted deeply.

“Alright.” Torrhen was appeased and switched right back to smiling again, “she'll be thrilled, no doubt about it.” Jon hoped the same, Aunt Ashara had done so much for him over the years, and he wanted to repay her somehow.

“And Tyene can learn from her still.” He also added on because he knew very well that as a young king with a small council full of older people, he would one day be faced with replacing positions rather than them figuring out how to work with a new king.

“Grand Maester.”

“Not Pycelle, that's for sure,” Jon grouched and shuddered, Torrhen doing the same, “but I can't take any of the Maesters that I know and trust, as much as I would wish to.” Taking Dawin away from Andric was no option and taking Caleotte away from Doran would just simply be cruel. “It'll give Ty a good reason to go and visit Sarella at the Citadel. Find someone I can trust, someone who is competent.” He made the emphasis because there would not be another Pycelle.

“Good idea.”

“Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.” Torrhen breached the block of topic that would have him twitchy and certainly more interested still, and he even leaned forward with a grin while speaking.

“Pa.” Jon answered without even giving Torrhen time to breathe after having spoken his latest word, “After everything that happened, I will not trust anyone but him with that position, even if I have to beg and beg. I want him right at my side.” There was just no other option for him, there was no other way, even if he had to beg and beg and plead and work for weeks on convincing him.

“I'm quite sure he'll say yes, Jon.” Torrhen didn't hold the doubts that Jon's heart carried, that his father might just not say yes because he had finished that chapter of his life. Despite what he had been saying and hinting at during the tourney, Jon's father had all rights to say no to a white cloak. “What about Barristan?” Torrhen asked him with his next breath and Jon knew he had to treat carefully to not let Torrhen think he wouldn't honor his father figure with the respect he deserved.

“I want to ask him to become my Master-at-arms.” Jon carefully got closer to the truth that laid at the core of his decision to basically demote Barristan. As much as he knew that he could trust the old knight, he also knew that many Loyalists still looked at Barristan the Bold and saw the man who had switched sides so seemingly easily after their Dragon Prince had fallen in battle. To a lesser degree he was an oathbreaker like Jaime Lannister, and just because Jon's father had long since forgiven both of them didn't mean that the majority of the Loyalists would as well right away.

And Barristan might be faced with even more of a challenge there than Ser Jaime once he was ready to reveal the truth about the events that had led to the Mad King's death. Ser Jaime had broken his oath to save thousands, to save a Princess and her young children. Barristan had broken his oath to, in the end, ultimately only save himself.

“A noble position for him.” Torrhen didn't blow up though and Jon hoped that he might hold the same idea in his heart after all. “He'll do great in training young knights. Can I ask why taking him off the Kinsguard?”

“Because I want to give him a chance at having what he couldn't have before,” Jon revealed and gave Torrhen a soft smile before throwing a look outside when the laughter roared up for a moment.

“Ma,” Torrhen got it with a silent gasp after a brief moment and Jon nodded at him, prompting Torrhen to grin again, brighter still than before if even possible. Rhaena and him had never made a secret out of their wish to see their mother happy with the man who had held her in his heart for so long already.

“Yes. A Master-at-arms can marry, or you know, take a lover without anyone gasping in scandal over it.” Jon noted down, even if he harbored some plans to change the Kingsguard oaths a little once he got to that point on his list of priorities. He very much knew why those men were forbidden from taking a wife or father children, their bond should always only lay with the King they were sworn to protect, with his family they were meant to guard, not with their own. But would a lover really disturb it so much? Weren't they owned a little happiness as well? As long as no children complicated the matter? “They deserve to be happy, we both know they love each other.”

“Your Kingsguard then. Who serves under Uncle Arthur?”

“Ser Jaime. Ser Adrian. They can keep their white cloaks, they will be loyal to me. I have no doubt about it.” Jon listed it down, seeing no surprise in Torrhen's eyes. Ser Adrian had been religiously shuffling information over to Corlyn, was his eyes and ears in the Red Keep now where Aurane couldn't be that person anymore. And Ser Jaime had shown how much he would throw away his life to return to wear a white cloak with a dragon on it instead of a stag. “I will ask Richard as well.”

“Oh man, he will be so honored, Jon.” Torrhen grinned and Jon did as well, Richard had in the past only briefly dreamed about wearing a white cloak for Rhaegar, before he had truly had his eyes opened and seen how much the white brothers had struggled under Aerys. Jon hoped he would say yes to him now though. “Alright, that makes four out of Seven. We got Dorne, the Westerlands, the Crownlands and the Stormlands presented now. There will never be a Kingsguard from the Iron Islands.”

“Certainly not in a decade after they rebelled. And certainly not under me.”

“So that leaves us with the Reach, the North, the Riverlands and the Vale. And three free spots.” Torrhen showed his love for strategy and Jon just so managed to refrain from rolling his eyes, Torrhen had been fighting a war in Jon's name long before they had even learned the truth of his blood. Only now, Jon actually needed his brother to lead a war for him. “Someone will be left out.”

“You cannot always make everyone happy when there are nine realms and only seven Kingsguard.” Jon put fact to words and wondered not for the first time why none of his ancestors had ever seen fit to change it after the Seven Kingdoms had grown to a larger number than seven. “And look at the Great Seven of Aerys. Two Dornish, two Riverlanders, two Reachers and one Westerlander, wasn't exactly an equal distribution either.”

“Look at you, already throwing around the big words.” Jon teased and Torrhen slapped a hand against his leg. “And things were more equally set before Pa stepped into the spot that Gwayne Gaunt left behind.”

“Have you been reading up on the Kingsguard?” He got the teasing right back and Jon stuck out his tongue at Torrhen who laughed, leaning back against the rocks again.

“I've been doing that ever since we got back to Westeros. Don't change the subject, three spots.” Jon got them back on track and Torrhen huffed as much as he turned serious as well again.

“The Riverlands? Aside from the Tullys in the last Rebellion, they've always been loyal to the Targaryens.” Torrhen was right but the problem with the statement was also that the Tullys weren't just any House in the Riverlands. “Holden is eight and ten now, a secondborn son, he is good and he is loyal as well. He's our friend, Jon. And he admires Oswell Whent. If you come clean about who you are and what you want, he'll come _begging_.” Torrhen made an emphasis on the last word and Jon knew it to be true. Holden would do well with a white cloak on his shoulders, only Rhaena would be pissed that he was taking away her sworn sword, considering that a new guard for her would probably mean getting assigned someone who wasn't as understanding and accepting of her continously slinking off alone.

At the same time, that sounded like another great argument in letting Holden become a Kingsguard.

“That brings us up to five.” He collected them together and popped up three fingers to individually take down as he spoke. “And leaves us with the Reach, the Vale and the North.”

“What do your instincts say?” Torrhen asked and Jon thought for a moment over it, watching Torrhen's face for any indication of his own thoughts.

“I don't trust most Reacher Houses.” He got down to the simply hard truth first. “Not now, Delena Florent is Queen, her father sits the small council and her sister is married to the man who is now the spare heir. Olenna Tyrell has twisted her net to have a daughter of her line become Queen. The Redwynes hate the Velaryons, the Hightowers hate the Daynes, so they're out of the question.” Ser Gerold and Jon's Pa had been an exception in a grudge that was older than the Targaryen's rule on Westeros. “_Willas_ doesn't even trust all of his people, so I cannot take a Reacher, not without inviting paranoia into my ranks.But I also trust Jon Arryn even less than I can throw him away from myself, and the Vale is faithfully loyal to him, I don't want spies in my court by invitation.”

“If he hadn't married, I would have proposed Garlan.”

“I might have gone for Garlan, too. Maybe Loras could be an option once Willas got his house in order.” Though Loras seemed incredibly close to Renly Baratheon and Jon wasn't so sure that he would even stand on their side once a war started, completely independent of what Willas was going to do. Jon couldn't even fancy an idea on what Renly Baratheon was going to do, considering the plans Jon had for Storm's End he didn't know what to do with the youngest Baratheon brother.

“What is the saying that we made for ourselves?” Torrhen posed the question that Jon would hear a lot in the following two years, completely unaware as he was of it yet. It was a saying that the two of them had lived by and lived for ever since Jon had learned about Prince Rhaegar.

“Reward for loyalty, not punishment for the lack of it,” Jon recited and Torrhen inclined his head to him, looking so much more relaxed. The further they had left Storm's End behind, the more Torrhen had for now shaken off his paranoia moments and overprotectiveness.

Jon was frankly also quite glad over the little but not unimportant fact that Torrhen had also shaken off his female admirers before leaving. If there was something Torrhen didn't need was more girls to entertain at home.

“So we'll see how the Vale and the Reach react once everything is out in the open. Maybe see if Barristan has anyone he can offer, he can surely be trusted.” Torrhen revealed his opinion and then turned his grin into a smirk and Jon knew what was going to come next. “What about the North then? It would set quite the sign if someone from the North is assigned into the Kingsguard, it's been ages since...”

“Torrhen,” Jon interrupted him and then leaned forward with a slowly growing grin, “Being humble and coy looks really _really_ weird on you.” He laughed, even harder when Torrhen scowled.

“I'm not being coy.”

“Do I seriously have to ask you _again_?” Jon wanted to know with a sigh and Torrhen jumped to stand on his feet again, hands propped up against his hips.

“You have to ask me proper.” Torrhen argued and Jon raised an eyebrow because as he recalled it everything he did was always proper. “At the Tower, it was Jon who asked me but it's not gonna be Jon who needs the Kingsguard, is it now?”

Fair enough.

Got him again.

“Alright,” Jon decided and stood up again as well, both wolves shaking off their tiredness to snap back to attention, “then come with me.”

“Come with you where?” Torrhen was slow on the update and Jon bit back a growl, shaking his head with a smile, hopefully his Pa would understand what had to happen now.

“You wanna do it proper, then we're gonna do it in the throne room.” He told Torrhen who froze and gaped, “find Richard and Holden.”

“Jon...”

“I'm done waiting.”

He was, he really was done waiting. No more 'just ideas', no more 'one day', no more waiting game, no more 'if'.

This was going to happen now.

“Fetch the others...Ser.”

Torrhen grinned, scrambling towards the staircase, Shadow jumping to his feet as well.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Torrhen bowed before he hurried down the stairs and evaded the stone that a laughing Jon mimed to throw after him.

\--

Assured that it would take Torrhen a moment certainly to round the others up, Jon let Ghost lead him around the camp and over to the wheelhouses with their belongings. Finding his own chest wasn't difficult and accompanied by the laughter of the others around the fires, Jon pushed his way through tunics and breeches until he got to the bottom of the chest.

When he held the wanted piece in his hands, he swallowed, one last moment he allowed himself to doubt that this was truly the right decision. Four years of thinking about it. Four years of seeing what was going on in this realm. Four years of just knowing that things could be better for everyone.

Four years of needing time to see if Jon could continue existing if this other side in him was allowed to shine.

Four years of needing time to see if Jon had to die when Jaehaerys wanted to live.

“I'm ready. I want this.” He told Ghost who watched him with patient red eyes and Jon nearly expected him to roll those attentive eyes, he had been ready for a while, had been wanting for a while, just been overthinking it all again. He shook out the black fabric and then swung it over his back and shoulders, quick fingers blindly fastening it to the clasps on the light armor he hadn't yet taken off.

He glanced down at his feet and for the first time since he had started wearing it so many years ago, the cloak touched the ground just barely. It fit perfectly.

“Jon? Is that you there?” He heard his father's voice from around the wheelhouse and Ghost bounding off to get some cuddles answered that question before Jon could. His father grunted when Ghost certainly pushed against him in a greeting but quick enough the direwolf could be heard flopping to the ground and Jon had no doubt his father was immediately kneeling at his side. It gave him ample opportunity to get his chest into order and closed again before he walked over to them. His father looked up with a smile, “There you...”

Only to freeze in the very next moment at the sight of Jon.

He waited, let his father's eyes flicker over his appearance, full light travel armor in black as Jon preferred it, sword at his side, even if not the one Jon was suddenly longing for, and a Targaryen cloak on his shoulders.

Rhaegar Targaryen's cloak on his shoulders.

“Jon?”

“We can wait with any official announcements and declarations until we returned to Dorne. I want Doran to be there and Aunt Eyrin, Ally, Arianne but I don't want to wait anymore. I'm ready.” Jon told him, hoped that the slight hitch in his voice wouldn't be seen as doubt, there was none anymore, it was just a reaction of seeing this thing in his father's eyes well up again as he slowly got back to his feet.

It looked like his father wanted to say something but then those lips fell shut again and Jon was pulled into strong arms.

“I'll be with you, all the way.” His father said when they pushed apart again, strong hands framing Jon's face, almost of one height they were now, even if Jon felt as if his father would always seem so much greater than him. “Whatever it may be, I will help you. You won't be alone in this.”

“I was hoping you would say that.” Jon smirked slightly and his father quirked an eyebrow, “Because I was kinda hoping you could knight Torrhen tonight. In the throne room, under the stars. It's as much Dayne tradition as I can give him but I need Torrhen at my side, too. And he wants to be there.”

“Wearing a white cloak.” His Pa finished the sentence and Jon nodded, no one would see a surprise in it, no one. “Alright, we can do that.”

“And I want him serving under you.” Jon added as well and his father blinked, “There is no one else, Pa. No one else I can see in it. You've been my father and you will _always_ remain him, be Jaehaerys' Lord Commander, too?” His heart was beating in his chest in the short moment it took his father to react.

His father didn't say anything though.

He just took the knee.

And it wasn't Pa who looked up at him, it was Ser Arthur.

“I admit I have no idea what I am supposed to do now.”

His father laughed but it was someone else who answered.

“There is no official vow that he needs to speak,” Uncle Lucerys said as he appeared from some dark corner between the wheelhouses, maybe someone had been asking where Jon or Arthur had vanished off to, or Lucerys had just been talking a walk again because of his knee. “Back in the day, Aegon just asked Duncan, or so I've been told by my mother. And your great-grandfather and namesake had Ser Gerold kneel while asking him. They already swear a long enough oath when they take them into the Kingsguard, Jaehaerys, don't make those poor men repeat even more words.”

“Does the master of ships recite any oaths?” Jon cheekily wanted to know and Lucerys softly knocked his walking stick against the back of Jon's right leg.

“Not if you want me to say yes.” Lucerys answered him and reached out to squeeze Jon's shoulder first and then did the same with Jon's Pa. “Now, ask your knight your question and then let's get going. I believe we have something to do in the throne room then.”

“Ser Arthur, will you serve me as the Lord Commander of mine Kingsguard?”

“I will.”

Lucerys made a subtle motion with his stick and Jon got it after an awkward two second silence between the three of them, rushing to take up his sword he set it to his Pa's shoulder in the blessing sign it was. And then they were laughing and Jon tugged his Pa back to his feet before accepting the warm hug he got in return.

\--

The stars were bright in a cloudless sky as they came together in the burned out Great Hall only a few minutes later. As far as traditions went, it couldn't have been more perfect for the knighting ceremony of a Dayne son. The lack of a ceiling meant the stars gave light throughout the entire hall, not just the front as the ceiling in Starfall allowed.

Their family wasn't complete, Torrhen knew that, he was missing aunts and little cousins and some friends but he didn't want to wait any longer. All he had ever wanted was so close in reach now, it couldn't wait another fortnight. His mother and sister had gotten a hold of him while others had scrambled to set up the Great Hall a little more, Jon had disappeared with Uncle Arthur.

There were people here who he wouldn't have expected to see him get knighted, there were people missing who should have been there, disregarding how difficult it might have been to achieve so, but Torrhen was content nevertheless. It wasn't Starfall under his feet but it would be Dawn on his shoulder, all he had ever wanted since he had first picked up that wooden sword so many years ago.

He would only be the third who would kneel under Dawn as wielded under his uncle's hands, he pondered it as he had sought a moment of alone time still in the far back of the castle, standing in front of the portrait of Starfall in Dyanna Dayne's old solar. Only the third, in over two decades of his uncle holding Dawn as his own, it meant something. It meant something incredibly great to Torrhen that he was to follow into the footsteps of Jaime Lannister and Uncle Benjen.

“Thinking about something important?”

Torrhen looked away from the painting with his thoughts still circling, his uncle was leaning in the doorway, smiling at him, already wearing the full Sword of the Morning armor. Torrhen didn't have nerves over what was soon to happen but excitement was filling up and turning him a bit restless.

“Not really,” he answered his uncle despite the contrary being true, he just wasn't in the mood to talk such heavy stuff right then. “Just wanted a moment alone.”

“Understandable,” his uncle said and walked into the room, “Jon is making sure everything is set up, and trust me... right now, he's gonna get things done.” The weird tone in his uncle's voice had Torrhen raise an eyebrow and Arthur sighed. “Did you know he brought Rhaegar's cloak with him?”

“No,” Torrhen let his confusion show, he hadn't exactly watched Jon pack for this trip, he wasn't truly surprised but he hadn't expected that thing to accompany them. “He's a little passed needing a safety blanket.”

“Yeah,” Arthur agreed but he also looked a little overwhelmed and Torrhen wondered what had happened, “he can use it for something else now, though.”

“Wait...” Torrhen put the clues together and called an end to his five private minutes, “he is wearing it?” He wanted to know from his uncle who nodded. “Honestly can say I didn't see that coming. I knew that he was more than ready before we even set out, he had just been looking for the right timing. Are you okay, uncle?”

“I'm good,” Arthur's reply was quick and confident, no hesitation and Torrhen was relieved that they hadn't run him over with this choice. Arthur had only ever wanted to protect Jon, let him make his own choices and Jon had done so in the end. “I am officially the Commander of a Kingsguard for an yet uncrowned king now.”

“If you're expecting a moment of shock, you're standing in front of the wrong person,” Torrhen deadpanned, making his uncle laugh. “He has wanted this for a long time, he just needed to do it right. And not just for himself, he is not the only one whose life is gonna change. Again. But there was never any doubt in me that when the moment came, you would be standing right where you are now. You never stopped being a white knight, uncle. There might not have been a king to protect but there was us, your family. And you did a really amazing job at it. Now is the time where we don't necessarily turn the whole thing around but it's where we step up and help. Jon has a really long rocky road ahead of him, I plan to be there every step of the way.”

“Yeah, me too,” his uncle told him and then pulled him into a hug. “Now, come on, don't want to keep the others waiting any longer.” They stepped back into the main corridor and walked back towards the great hall, just with no rush and Torrhen didn't feel too bad when he stopped his uncle just around the corner from one of the opened side entrances of the hall.

“Thank you,” he began and his uncle settled both hands on his shoulders, “for always being so patient with me, for pushing when I needed it and for letting me make mistakes.”

“Torre, I am so proud of the man you have become. I am not sad tonight that I am losing a squire, I am happy that I will welcome a knight. Happy and proud that I will soon be serving next to you.”

\--

Torrhen was never going to admit it but there was not just a small flutter in his stomach as he knelt down at the bottom of the steps that had once led up to the platform for the high table for Kings and Princes. The only things that illuminated the once glorious Great Hall of Summerhall were the stars in the nightsky and four torches placed in each corner. His heart was thudding in his chest as the people around him took their places, everyone seemed to have crammed into the hall to witness this moment.

When he had previously thought about this day, this moment, he had imagined it differently, seen himself kneeling under the starlight window of Starfall's Great Hall after sitting sigil in front of the weirwood tree for a day and night. Surrounded by friends and family, they would have celebrated afterwards. In a perfect world, his father would have been here as well, both, the one who had given him his blood and the one he had chosen but he knew that they were with him at all times.

If he was completely honest, this also felt so much more memorable.

And symbolic.

To be knighted in the same night as Jon declaring his intentions.

Both of their lives would change now, both of them would with this night step onto a path with no return and they would do it together.

And in the end the only thing that had ever been important for him was that his uncle was the one holding the sword and that it was Dawn resting on his shoulder.

Arthur and Andric were the last who took their places, both in front of him, Andric holding Torrhen's sword and Arthur holding Dawn.

It was time.

“You good?” Arthur asked him quietly and Torrhen nodded, he was so strung tight with nerves that it needed to begin or he would explode. He took a deep breath and then lowered his head. Another deep breath later he heard the sound of a sword being drawn. He breathed out long and then felt the heavy weight of Dawn on his right shoulder.

"Torrhen, do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all women and children, to obey your captains and your liege lord, to fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?"

"I do."

He had never been one to obey much before.

He had always looked for ways around the given paths but this right now was everything he had worked towards since first holding a wooden sword in his hands.

More than ten years in the making.

A sword, a knighthood and a white cloak.

Tonight he was going to have it all.

As Dawn shifted shoulders, Torrhen felt how his heart slowed down again, how the tension bled out of his limbs and his mind settled on peace. Everything had come together.

"In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave.”

Later, Rhaena would tell him that in that moment the shower of falling stars started over Summerhall.

“In the name of the Father I charge you to be just.”

Dozens of falling stars lit up the nightsky and filled the darkness with wishes, hopes and dreams.

“In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent.”

It was a sign, a sign that their choices, the choices Jon and Torrhen had been moving towards their entire lives already, those choices were the right ones.

“In the name of the Maiden I charge you to protect all women.”

Dawn was glowing brighter than any other sword ever could.

Torrhen wasn't just knighted by her, he was knighted by starlight in a shower of falling stars by the Sword of the Morning.

Meant for bigger things since the cradle.

“Arise, Ser Torrhen.”

No House, it had been Torrhen's demand. He hadn't wanted his knighthood to belong to anyone but him. No one was ever going to force him into making a choice between Dayne and Stark, he would always be both.

He stood up under thunderous cheering and clapping and he grinned up at his uncles, filled with fire over seeing the pride and the joy in their eyes. He took a deep breath and turned around, eyes falling on Jon in the shadows of the left side, framed by direwolves, they smiled at each other, shared that moment where they stopped being boys. Jon nodded and Torrhen returned it, before letting himself get swept away by the flood of family and friends and guests coming closer to congratulate him.

No more just a bastard.

He was a knight now.

“Can I have a moment?” Jon asked when the congratulations were slowing down and the conversations in the hall died as Jon stepped upon the broken steps of the former platform for the high table. “I think some of you might be wondering why this sudden knighting ceremony.” And suddenly it became clear why Jon had held himself in the background so much because now with him standing in the better light of stars, moon and torches, eyes were drawn on the red on his black cloak.

“I don't want to make this more complicated than it has to be, so... I'm going for that throne. All plans and plots made and suggested behind my back for the last decade or so can from now on be brought to me. I'd like to hear them. Thank you for waiting so long.”

It earned him some laughs but also applause.

Torrhen caught his eyes and smiled at him, here we go then, let's do this.

\--

“Whitecloaks!”

Arthur snapped his head around and pushed Jon towards Aurane in the same motion, heart thumping hard for the split moment it took for age old instincts to flare up, “Get him into the ruins. Torrhen, stay with them.” Aurane took ahold of Jon's arm and began to pull, Torrhen immediately had his sword in his hand and Shadow and Ghost on either side of them, eyes everywhere. The only one not on the line yet was Jon himself who tried to work against the grip Aurane had on him, all around them movement was happening, women and men taking up arms, others being shuffled off into the ruins.

Arya looking wide-eyed as Robb picked her up, their wolves with their ears flattened down. Rhaena vanishing with Edric into the ruins, Holden's hands firm on their shoulders. Ashara sending Arthur a look as she followed Lucerys and Elion. Corlyn helping Jace with his crutches.

“I want to...”

“You want me to be your Lord Commander?” Arthur interrupted his son and demanded of him in a sharp tone, the harshest he had ever been with him, and Jon nodded right away, “Then you'll follow _my commands_ when it concerns your safety. Take him away.” He ordered and this time when Aurane pulled Jon followed, looking clearly unhappy with the situation but his place would not be on a battlefield unless that dragon was breathing right over his shoulder, Arthur would make sure of that. “Ben, Rich!”

“Already here,” Ben announced and appeared at his side out of seemingly nowhere, Richard and also Milo and Luca right behind him. Oberyn joined them, too, with Obara. Andric was there, with Carral. Knights and fighters lined themselves up, a well prepared paranoid bunch.

But better safe than sorry.

Arthur never wanted to feel sorry again, never wanted to feel that guilt.

The riders who broke through the night were Barristan and Jaime and Arthur's heart couldn't quite decide between the relieved breaths that Richard and Benjen let out and the alarmed little huff that Milo gave upon the sight of them. Andric pushed a hand over his face and Oberyn rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen the sudden tension in them that fading battle energy could bring.

“Tell them to lower their weapons and relax, we're okay.” Arthur told Milo, Luca and Daemon who nodded and rushed off, Richard, Benjen, Andric, Oberyn and Carral sheathed their weapons again and Arthur loosened his grip on Dawn as Barristan and Jaime brought their horses to stop in front of them. “Not cool.”

“Apologies, Arthur,” Barristan began, swinging himself down from his horse, Jaime following his move, Arthur nodded for some squires to take the horses. In the distance Elion and Lucerys returned with Corlyn and a furry head bumped against Arthur's hip, growling body telling him even without looking that it was Shadow. He reached a hand into the fur at the wolf's neck, stopped him in his advances.

And only then did he take notice of the fact that only one of the men standing before him now wore white.

“What brings this visit along?” Andric wanted to know in a tone that showed how much he needed to return to Dorne where things were making sense. Arthur frowned at Barristan but only got a smile in return, it was Jaime who snorted and scowled as he set to give a response.

“Someone wanted to announce the change in command in person,” he grunted the words out and sounded so much like his overwhelmed old self again that Arthur raised an eyebrow. Jaime was so done with everything, limit had been reached and overfilled already.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Corlyn asked as he stopped next to Arthur, the fact that there was no sign of Aurane yet meant that Jon had clearly listened and was letting himself be protected for now. Arthur was glad about it, as much as he was as confused as the others around him.

“It means,” Jaime went on and sent Barristan a glare that was only half heated at best, Arthur made a noise to prompt him on, “he just made my life about four times more exhausting than it already is. You're looking at the new Lord Commander of Robert Baratheon's Kingsguard.”

Oh, fucking hells.

“Barristan?” It felt like not enough and at the same time already too much to just say his name in a question but Arthur was falling as he stood there, staring at the older man. He didn't understand and at the same time understood so much. Barristan laying down the white, back in the day Arthur would have considered it impossible, it had been such a big part of him. Things had changed though, Barristan had changed and Arthur was happy that Ashara and him could be together now.

“Robert offered me to lay down the white again and this time I took it,” Barristan explained it, more to everyone else than to Arthur. They smiled at each other in understanding, at least until Jaime huffed at them and Arthur immediately turned his attention to Jaime's frustration again. He had no doubt that Jaime understood Barristan's decision and was happy for him but he also had all the right to be a little angry.

“You...you gave up the white?” Benjen showed the shock that most others had to be feeling as well and then Arthur's goodbrother shook his head and turned to look past Richard to where Andric was standing and blinking at Barristan. “Should I fetch Ashara?” Arthur guessed that his brother nodded, even if he couldn't see, because Benjen hurried off.

Soon enough people were swarming around again with the danger gone and he took some steps back, waved for the others to do the same, despite how curious they might be, Ashara, Torrhen and Rhaena deserved a moment alone with Barristan.

“Is it true?” Jon wanted to know as he appeared next to him with Aurane, showing that he wasn't angry over Arthur's harsh tone with him earlier with a hug. “Barristan really laid down the white?” Arthur gave confirmation with a nod and Jon made a weird noise. “What a timing.”

“Why?” Aurane asked him and Jon gave some kind of hoarse laugh and pushed a hand through his hair before reaching out a hand to scratch Ghost behind the ears.

His answer was slightly delayed when Arya came bounding over and stretched up arms for Arthur, eyes still slightly spooked. Arthur picked her up and bumped a leg against Nymeria's tensed up frame at his side just then.

“It's okay,” he promised Arya quietly as Jon told Aurane about having wanted to give Barristan the way out to be with Ashara. “It was just a scare. We had to make sure that it was safe but it's all okay now and nothing happened.” Arya grunted and then wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed her face against his neck. Fierce she-wolf or not, Arya was also still a child and children were allowed to get scared, especially by things like this.

“Arthur?”

He looked up and around, as did Aurane and Jon, and found Jaime hesitantly coming closer.

“You got a moment?”

\--

As everyone seemed to crowd around Barristan and Ashara then and Torrhen swung somewhere between pure happiness over Barristan's decision and being a little bumped that he had come not even an hour after Torrhen had gotten knighted, Jon chose to step aside and let them have their moment of joy. He watched how his fathers pulled Ser Jaime off to the side to talk, he didn't want to imagine what was running through Ser Jaime's head now, he only hoped his Pa could help.

He himself walked off into another direction where a lone figure had made his camp a little off from the others, ever since he had left the tourney early for his own safety's sake, he had been without much companionship.

Griff smiled when Jon sat down next to him, his eyes never lost the sadness for good but he looked lighter as he spotted the cloak around Jon's shoulders.

“It fits,” Griff said softly and Jon nodded, still amazed by it himself, “I have no doubt that he is happy wherever he is now. Seeing you make this step, well thought through as well.”

“About that,” Jon began and blended out the rest around him, Griff deserved to get his full attention as he approached this potentially difficult issue. “I wanted to ask you to stay. To become part of my council, fill a position on my war council and gods behold we are winning then I would love to see you on my small council as well. I can understand if you say no but I really want you to stay, Griff.”

“Jon...”

“I know you made mistakes,” Jon didn't even give him a chance to really say something and he truly needed to work on not interrupting people all the damn time, “and I know you are blaming yourself for a lot that happened but Rhaegar didn't die because of you.” In some sudden moment of horror, Jon wondered if anyone had ever said those words to Griff. He knew that though having gotten better, his Pa and Griff would never truly repair their friendship. He knew that Aurane and Griff would never truly see eye to eye. Richard would always be reminded of the terrible Battle of the Bells when he was around Griff.

But they had to try, and Griff deserved to get a purpose again, to be more than just caretaker of a princess.

“Rhaegar didn't die because you lost one battle. Or because you got exiled. I know you loved him, Griff,” everyone who looked only a little closer could see it, “and I can't bring him back but I can fulfill his legacy. And you can help me.”

“No man is going to follow me into another battle,” Griff answered him and as sad as it was, he was absolutely right in it, “and my head, Jon, it's not...”

“You won't have to fight.” Jon took that worry away from him. “I need your knowledge and your experience and not your swordhand. You've fought Robert Baratheon before, you've seen the kind of battle he leads. So, please, stay.” It was maybe begging and it was definitely a little unfair that he was wearing Rhaegar's old cloak while doing so but this time Jon wouldn't give up. The others would have to accept his decision, the advantage of becoming a King.

Griff nodded and Jon grinned.

“I am only saying yes to the war council for now. We'll talk about the rest when it comes to it.”

\--

“I think we can all agree that announcing and appointing my council can wait until we're in Sunspear, I need to write some letters, I need to talk to people first.” Jon said only a little later when they had all returned to the Great Hall, with him standing on the broken platform now.

“What cannot wait is appointing a Kingsguard.” Torrhen threw in from where he had positioned himself two large steps away from Jon, ever ready to be able to push Jon behind himself within the blink of an eye. If possible, Torrhen had upped his game still, if Jon shifted, so did Torrhen.

“Exactly,” Jon continued and looked around, “I have asked Arthur to become my Lord Commander and he has thankfully agreed.” Jon explained to everyone and no one looked surprised, “furthermore it will also shock no one by hearing that Torrhen has sworn himself to wear white a long time ago.” Once again, no one looked surprised, Torrhen's smug grin only grew, on to the important part then. “Additionally I have decided to let Ser Jaime Lannister and Ser Adrian Celtigar keep their white cloaks,” standing at the back with about a three men's shoulder width distance between himself and Griff, Jaime snapped his head up and Jon smiled at him. “Ser Adrian and you have already proven yourself loyal to the Targaryens and ready and willing to carry a heavy burden. I want to honor that.”

“It _will be_ my honor,” Ser Jaime stuttered out and for a moment he looked so incredibly overwhelmed again but this time in a good way. He shared a look with Jon's Pa who was smiling in happiness. After more than a decade, they would stand and fight on the same side again. The people who wouldn't appreciate this choice could take it up with Jon and he would direct them to his father and the many reasons he had for trusting Jaime Lannister.

“That brings us to four out of seven. For the remaining three I have already picked two candidates, the one remaining spot will be left open for now.” Jon took a second to look around until he found Richard standing among the Dayne household guards. “Ser Richard, will you step forward? You as well, Ser Holden.”

Richard blinked and actually took a bit longer to move than the brightly smiling Holden who walked away from Rhaena's side. As already expected, Rhaena looked slightly glum over losing her sworn sword but they would find someone else for her, someone who was hopefully not so wrapped around her little finger. Richard finally moved when Andric pushed at his shoulder a little and in complete trance Richard walked to stand next to Holden, Torrhen finally moved in line as well and Aurane pushed Jon's Pa forward.

Together the four men knelt down on one knee and Jon took a breath, in so many ways it felt like the first official act in a new life.

“Jon?” Tyene came before he could have said the first word of the oath and he looked over to where she stepped past her father with something folded up in her hands until she was standing beside him. Something white. “After the royal summons, Rhaena and I came to talk and we decided upon some... things, and we might have had some good guesses, too, and took some precautions. And these last days, we got a bit busy with some needlework.” She swung out the white in her hands and Jon felt himself choke up a little when it turned into a white cloak with the back bestitched with a three headed dragon whose tail formed a falling star. “Seems like our guesses were right. We only got enough for two but...”

“Thank you.”

“Nah, we got three,” Jaime called out and stepped forward, unclaspsing the white cloak from his shoulders, Robert Baratheon's Kingsguard didn't carry any sigils on theirs, “I already swore my vows, and contrary to some people I wasn't freed from them.” Jon bit his lip to keep from grinning when his Pa elbowed Jaime's knee as he walked past him. “We swear to protect the king but we don't swear on names. My duty is to the Seven Kingdoms and the Iron Throne, not to Robert Baratheon. I never stopped being a Kingsguard for a Targaryen, I just didn't know it.” He handed his cloak to Tyene who took it.

“Thankfully,” Andric spoke up as well and turned up with the silver-white cloak of the ceremonial armor of the Sword of the Morning, “this one is faded out by the sun enough that the difference won't show.” And he looped it over to Edric who caught it and joined Tyene on Jon's left. “And as it comes, it's made to fit one of your Kingsguard perfectly.”

\--

“I swear to guard the king with all my strength. To defend and give my blood for his and his family.”

Jon had insisted on that last part as an addition.

“I swear to obey the king's orders if given in full health and well-being. I swear to give counsel where counsel is asked and swear to hold his secrets. I swear to not wed and father no children who may take me away from my duties. I will protect your life, your name, your honor and your kingdom. I swear my loyalty, my sword and my life to you, my King.”

Four voices blended together into one and Jon knew that there was no going back, something had begun and he couldn't wait to see it fulfilled.

\--

When it came to people stepping forward to cloak the Kingsguard members in their white cloaks, Jon found himself biting back some emotions rolling up his chest again when he saw the tears in Barristan's blue eyes as he volunteered. He watched how Barristan started with Jon's own Pa, saw the look those two exchanged, a deja vue, only this time Barristan wasn't welcoming a brother into the ranks. Holden looking so very humbled as Barristan squeezed his shoulder briefly after fastening Jaime's cloak around his shoulders, Holden being the one almost equal in stature to the Golden Lion.

Next came Richard who closed his eyes when one of Tyene's and Rhaena's white cloaks with the stitched on three headed dragon folded over his shoulders. A boy who had once so very briefly dreamed of one day wearing white for the man he had squired for, who had seen so many friends die right in front of himself in the Rebellion, always at Rhaegar's side. Until the very end. Until Rhaegar himself had mouthed at him to run as he had realized it was too late to turn the tide.

And then it came to Torrhen and Barristan did step forward to exchange some quiet whispered words with Torrhen who nodded, who clasped the hand set upon his shoulder, the very same shoulder that Dawn had rested above not two hours ago. But then Barristan turned around and held out the white cloak to Jon.

“You played at being Dunk and Egg when you were children, Aegor and Daemon. So do it like them, Jaehaerys.”

His legs felt shaky and unreal but the steps Jon took down the steps were nevertheless steady as he approached Barristan and took the white cloak from him. He locked his eyes with Torrhen's and they both took a deep breath at the same time as Jon swung the white cloak around Torrhen and then waited that short moment until the white settled on his back and shoulders before he blindly fastened it to the clasps on Torrhen's armor.

“Five years in the making.”

“Waiting for it was more than worth it.”

“Always and forever?”

“Always and forever.”

\--

“Now all _you_ need is a crown, Your Grace.”

“We might have something there.” Aurane announced to Richard's offhanded quip with a grin that couldn't have been bigger and the shifty eyes between all three Velaryon brothers caused quite a lot of people to frown. Arthur raised an eyebrow, not understanding at all what his better half was hinting at. “When I brought Elia's wedding circlet back to Sunspear, I lied to you, Oberyn. Doran and you asked me if I had found any sign of the crowns and I said no, when in fact I had known where the crowns and the dragon jewels were for years.”

Whispers and mumbling started, Arthur looked gobsmacked at Aurane who shrugged as if this was no fucking big deal to reveal it at such a moment in time. Jon stepped forward, leaving Torrhen's side.

“It was you.” Barristan whispered loudly in surprise before Jon could say something though, “the crowns weren't stolen, they were taken.” Arthur was glad that Jaime had left again, these new pieces of information would have only made him twitch more still. The lesser Jaime had to hide the easier the burden on his shoulders.

“To safety.” Corlyn clarified in a hard voice, contrary to his younger brothers he didn't look like a kid with their hands caught in the cookie jar, “After I saw how they were treated, I had no other choice.”

“It was _your_ idea?” Lucerys spluttered and stared at his oldest son, Jace and Aurane chuckled into their sleeves, “_You_ orchestrated that?” And Corlyn fucking shrugged, and for anyone doubting it, he suddenly could look like a member of the Velaryon trio of brothers after all.

“It's our _history_.” Corlyn argued in that '_I do what I do because I want to'_ tone that his brothers were so known for, Lucerys looked like he couldn't recognize his own firstborn, standing a little off to the side of him Vaemon looked entirely baffled as well. “And I knew that the day Jon decided to go for the throne and Robert heard about it, those crowns would be _melted_, and I couldn't let that happen. And it wasn't just about Jon, it was about our history, your own grandfather's crown, your blood, father. Your own history.”

“Don't tell me you stored that all on Driftmark and brought such risk to Ma and us!” Vaemon piped up from where he had placed himself with Quentyn and the Yronwood boys, Aethan was looking around him to his father and uncles as well. “It's just Laeno and some household guards with Ma and Alyssa right now, you can't...”

“Vaemon,” Corlyn stopped his son's outburst and Vaemon snapped his mouth shut, “it's here.” He clarified and the whispers stopped right away, Arthur didn't even know who it was who muttered the surprised and confused “here?” he was too busy whirling around to glare at mischievious eyes.

“Aurane!” Arthur hissed and green eyes innocently blinked at him, sheepish just looked wrong on Aurane, “you put them into the secret chambers?” It wasn't as if the secret chambers had been an actual hidden secret that only a handful of people had known about in the first place. Summerhall had been a castle built in line with the Valyrian history and ancestry, less like the Red Keep and more like Dragonstone. It had fitted itself well into the keeps and grand castles of the Stormlands on the outside but the inside had been clearly mastered by different minds, or that was what old plans had told Arthur when Rhaegar had shown them to him in his youth.

A Stormlander castle almost three times the size of Storm's End but also a small Valyrian city.

And Valyrian styles always came with secret chambers, secret walkways, secret windows and secret exits. Not that any of that had saved Summerhall from its fiery fate but apparently it was good enough now to protect treasure.

“Of course I did. Nothing is safer than there if...”

“Do you know how many bandits always ransacked this place after Rhaegar and I visited? Hoping for maybe just one forgotten bloody coin or...”

“No one saw it was us and...”

“Which crown should it be, Jaehaerys?” Elion wisely stopped their bickering before it could go on for another hour or so. There was a reason why Andric and Oberyn had already pushed for them to have some rogue former septon speak some marriage vows for them, mostly so they could actually argue like an old married couple. “The Conqueror's crown might have been lost long ago but there are still many pieces of history to choose from.”

There was a pause as Jon turned to thinking and everyone else waited patiently for him to make that decision, it wouldn't be an easy one. All those crowns that remained, all of them told stories about the King or Queen who had worn them once upon a time, and not all of it was good. Legacies had been tarnished by heirs, crowns that had once stood for glory and peace had suddenly meant madness and blood dripping down streets.

Whatever crown Jon chose, it couldn't be an off the spot decision, it couldn't be the easy pick because this decision couldn't be easy. People would look at him and whatever crown sat upon his head would tell them about the intentions he had. It would tell them what kind of person he was and what kind of King he would therefore be.

There was a voice in Arthur's head, for the first time in a long long time sounding like Rhaegar again that actually mourned the loss of the Conqueror's crown. As much as the Young Dragon was despised in Dorne, they too knew what the crown stood for, that it wasn't _it_ whom had been tarnished but the man wearing it, but that crown was lost. Eaten away by the sand in the Boneway, and the sand would guard it until it alone decided to reveal its price.

“Maekar's.”

Jon's voice broke through the silence of the hall and Arthur smiled, it wasn't a surprise and it also shouldn't have been a surprise. Maekar, not Jon's favourite dragon king but the second on that list and far more reachable in aspirations than Jaehaerys the First and his nearly godslike status. Maekar had not been raised for the throne, had come to it because of tragedies, had loved a Dayne woman and her family, had loved Dorne and been fulfilled with a great sense of duty to crown, history and his people.

Overshadowed still by the Blackfyre Rebellions Maekar's years of rule had still been known as peace times. Even ever ambitious Aegor Rivers must have realized that he couldn't win against a man like Maekar, not against the stubborn and hardworking boy who had trained with him as children on the sparring yards of the Red Keep. Maekar was hard, strict, smart and maybe he had also been harsh at times, quick to judge and unforgiving but one needed to realize what times he had been born into, the pain life had dealt him.

Jon wasn't like Maekar, as much as he carried on the man's blood and let him live on in the color of his eyes. Arthur was also aware though that things could have been different, that some decisions made differently, some paths chosen differently could have turned Jon into very much a man like the distant ancestor Rhaena and him shared. Had he let Ned Stark take the boy North, who knows what might have happened, their one-minded sight on bastards, Catelyn Stark's own upbringing, the limited choices the boy could have made for himself in Winterfell, Jon could have turned into this harsh man who had only loved once and then grown cold after he lost his great love way too soon.

Or worse still, Jon could have become another Aegor Rivers, angry and bitter, a brooding bastard forgotten by his family, betrayed by his own blood until the pain and loneliness turned itself into a furious wish for vengeance.

Maekar's crown fitted Jon well, fitted the purpose he now carried in himself well.

“I don't want a crown that is inflicted with the mistakes of my ancestors or with the taste of madness.” Jon explained to them all and he caught Arthur's eyes so easily now, “we'll have war, as much as I had wanted to avoid it, the Usurper's behavior at the tourney told me it will get bloody.” And Arthur could only nod to that, it was the unfortunate truth, Robert acted more childish than Jon had in a long time. “Bring me Maekar's crown. I will not wear it here, but we'll take it to Sunspear.”

“Sunspear?” Oberyn wanted to know in confusion that Arthur also felt rising up because it was an interesting choice for sure, “why do you wanna head for Sunspear? Not Starfall?” Jon smiled, and it was still Jon who smiled, the boy, the boy who was Arthur's son, not the King, and he wouldn't get lost in it, he would still be Jon, too, Arthur realized it with a heart beating easier again. All this time of waiting, it became clear now, he hadn't waited and contemplated if he truly wanted the throne, that had been obvious to him long ago but he had needed to be absolutely sure that picking that path wouldn't mean losing _himself_ in it.

“It has to be Sunspear,” Jon said and he looked from face to face, lingered on Oberyn in the end as he continued, “I want Dorne to crown me.”

It wasn't a mix up.

It wasn't a mistake, not a mispoken word because of nerves.

He hadn't said Doran, on purpose. He said Dorne.

Arthur could feel his heart thumping harder again as Oberyn and Jon stared at each other, as Elion stepped forward on silent feet to stand next to his son.

“I want Dorne to know and _see_ that I wouldn't be where I am now, making these choices, if it hadn't been for them. All of them. I want Dorne to know that I'm not only going for the throne because of who I am, because of what I need to do right for Westeros and the people or because of the wrongs done to my family's legacy. I want them to know that I'm going to take back the throne in parts also for the King who should have sat it, the King who would have carried their blood. For the princesses who were taken from them because of the very man sitting on the throne right now, he may not have given the orders but he sure welcomed them afterwards.”

There was such a silence over them, not suffocating, just quiet, _everyone_ was listening.

Arthur glanced to his right when Aurane's hand slipped in his, he hadn't even heard him move over again, still so fixed on Jon.

For the first time seeing that charisma that he carried but always hid away because he had been too afraid of people listening and following him, for the first time there was no leash anymore on that spell he could put on people and _everyone_ was listening.

Rhaegar's gift, for the first time Jon showed that he was carrying it, too.

“Elia's son died and I can't bring him back. I don't have your blood,” Jon said it directly to Oberyn and Elion but he spoke to everyone else as well. He spoke to the Dornish who had seen him grow, who had all raised him a bit over the years. He spoke to the Crownlanders who carried Valyria in them, just like he did. He spoke to Robb, Arya and Domeric, Ser Jory and the Winterfell guards who carried the North in them, just like he did. He spoke to people who had in parts once fought on different sides in a war that had changed Westeros so much.

Across the hall, standing with tears in his eyes, Arthur saw how Benjen looked at Jon, the look in his eyes a many years away though. He wondered if Benjen saw what Arthur also saw, because as much as this was a Prince's son standing before them, as much as this was a new Targaryen King with a dragon, a wolf and a dream, this was also a woman's son.

This was _her_ easy confidence shining through for the first time.

_Her_ stubborness turned into conviction.

This was _her_ spine of steel.

This was the set of _her_ jaw.

This was the fire in _her_ eyes.

Jaehaerys Targaryen wasn't just Rhaegar's son, he was Lyanna's boy as well.

This was_ Lyanna's fire_speaking from _Rhaegar's blood_.

He was **Fire and Blood.**

“The traces of Dornish blood in me are faint but I have Aegon's blood nevertheless. Let _me_ be the one who takes the throne back in his name as well,” Jon declared and Oberyn was swallowing, Elion was only smiling. Standing off to Jon's left, half leaning against a pillar, Torrhen caught Arthur's eyes and smirked, and of course the rascal had known exactly what thoughts were running around Jon's head, what words there had been rolling around all this time. Torrhen was also the only one not caught up in the lull of Jon's voice, tone and words, his eyes were straying over the hall, always on the lookout. “Let Dorne crown me and let me be the King sitting on the Iron Throne who finally brings you the justice and the respect that Dorne deserves, the one that you once had. Let Dorne crown me so I can give you what Aerys the First, Maekar and Aegon the Fifth never gave the acknowledgement they should have had. Let me give you _**a son of Dorne on the Iron Throne**_.”

There was the start of cheers and yelling and calls of his name but it all stopped again right away.

Just like the breath in Arthur's chest and the heart below his ribs.

It all stopped because Oberyn Martell _took the knee_ in front of Rhaegar's son.

\--

From now on, everything would change.

Seventy six years ago, a prince raised not for the throne had left Summerhall a King to be crowned.

Thirty eight years ago, that man's son, another prince not raised for the throne but crowned a King anyway, perished in the fire that not only tarnished Summerhall forever but his own dynasty as well.

Thirty eight years ago, a prince had been born amongst the burning walls of Summerhall and though he had been raised for the throne, he had never gotten to wear the crown.

Tonight, in the ruins of the very same castle, that man's son had just become a King, broken the curse laid upon Summerhall and turned history full circle.

And somewhere in the blackened ruins that wildfire had left behind thirty eight years ago to this day, the ghost of King Aegon V finally found rest because now he knew that the dynasty of the Targaryen dragonriders had risen anew from the ashes after all.

Risen anew in a son of Dorne.


	10. Bonus Scene: Brotherhood on Test

He didn't look up when the large double doors were pushed open from the outside and then closed again from the inside, slow steady steps walking over to him. He kept his eyes on the map, fingers curled around the edge of the table, strained so hard his knuckles had turned whiter than they already were.

The steps stopped at his side and a hand came to rest between his shoulderblades, a warm familiar weight trying to give some comfort. How many times had he done it already for him? And how many times had it worked so effortlessly and quickly?

Unfortunately that didn't work right then.

“There is something I need to do.” Jon said and he wasn't even there anymore, his head was far away and his voice was a shadow of what it had been only a week ago. Torrhen could hardly recognize the boy standing in front of him, all the more reason on why he had to do what he had come for, if it wasn't already too late.

“Yes,” he agreed with Jon's words but not in the way they had been meant, “you need to stop blaming yourself and take some rest. You haven't laid down for more than two hours in the last days each.”

“Torrhen...”

“No,” Torrhen didn't even let the arguments take place, wouldn't accept any other outcome than the one he had set into his own head, Jon would sleep, fuck the rest, “this is the moment where I draw the line.” Hard. Drew the line hard. With dragonfire if he had to. “You might be my King, but you're also my best friend and this stops right here. If Arthur were here, he would have long since clobbered my ears because I didn't step in sooner.”

Wrong thing to bring up.

The worst thing to bring up.

  
“He _isn't_ here.”

Jon immediately looked guilty for having shouted and his shoulders dropped even more, Torrhen on the other hand closed his eyes and swallowed. Swallowed down the guilt until it stopped choking him again.

_Your mistake_, his mind reminded him again and again, _Arthur isn't here because of you._

_Because of you._

_It was your fault._

_You, you, you._

His stupid mistake that Barristan took the moral fall for because he had known that Jon had needed Torrhen to remain at his side. Barristan had taken the blame for Torrhen's decision because he hadn't wanted to see what an unleashed Jon without Torrhen looked like.

Not again.

Not another Ashford.

“No, he isn't, but _I_ am.” Torrhen calmly stated out the obvious but he knew Jon needed to hear it, one day, when all of this was over he was going to tell Jon what really happened in Duskendale. One day. Not now. “Your guilttrip, it stops right here and right now. You will leave the planning to your Council and the Kingsguard and you will lay down to get some sleep. You will eat something.” Jon looked up at him as those ultimatums rumbled past Torrhen's lips, the ghost of something familiar appearing again in those tired eyes.

“Are you giving your King orders now?” Jon wanted to know and at least dry amusement he could still manage, things had been utterly too serious since Duskendale and their other uncle's naïve mistake in trusting the wrong people. Since Jace's butched up mission, too, really. Torrhen had hoped that after _their_ capture and Ashford Meadows, Jon would be able to switch back to optimism and positivity if he just let him stir in his brooding thick head for a bit. He had thought he had still held on tightly onto him but then...

They didn't just need a win, they needed a godsdamn miracle.

And he was gonna make it happen, to redeem himself in his own eyes most of all, to right his wrongs before Jon even knew of them, and he would do it all while Jon finally took some rest.

“No, not my King,” Torrhen hence disagreed and curled a warm hand around Jon's too thin wrist, “I'm giving orders to my little brother.” It cut something in Jon, clear to see in haunted violet eyes but Torrhen needed to do it, regardless of how cruel it felt. He was going to get Jon back, any means necessary, he would not lose him, too.

“The people we've already lost... and now my fathers...” Jon could barely speak about it and Torrhen felt his pain all too well, his own heart was shattered as well, still, maybe even too shattered to ever be fully set together again.

That dark day would never fully leave him.

But right now he had to push past it, he had to look ahead.

“They would both be angry if they could see you this exhausted. Get sleep, get food, get rest. I'll take care of the rest for one night.” He promised it, and he would make good of it, not just for this night but for the weeks to come. Jon needed so desperately to take a step back right now.

“I can't ask that of you,” Jon held against it but Torrhen shook his head, he hadn't come to ask permission, he had simply come to announce his decision.

“You're not asking anything, I'm just doing it.”

“Torre...”

“I'm here, I'm not going **anywhere**.”

And he wouldn't, the gods only knew nothing was ever going to take him from Jon's side anymore, nothing. Too many people had left for various reasons already, too many people had been needed elsewhere. Torrhen was going to make damn sure that the Council didn't send even a single one of Jon's remaining inner circle of friends away to do some stupid mission or fulfill some bloody duty halfway across the freaking Seven Kingdoms.

Jon was going to need every single one of them right now.

And if they disagreed they would see what even a borrowed blade could do to them.

Arthur wasn't here but Dawn could protect and defend his son still and she would, in Torrhen's hands.

“What am I going to do?” Jon wanted to know and helplessness was screaming from him, his eyes were screaming for some advice, for some guidance, for someone to take charge.

“Sleep,” Torrhen used only one word and the walls around Jon began to crack, “you're going to sleep and let us figure out the next step for once.”

“They made you Lord Commander,” Jon realized the meaning of his words and Torrhen nodded, he had tried to convince them of other options, tried to convince them that he was the last person who deserved that honor, not after what he hadn't done for...

“Yes, I argued for Richard but they elected me, said that I will know best what Arthur would want and what's best for you. And arguably, with Arthur... I'm the _only one_ you listen to.”

“I'm tired.”

“So go to sleep. I'll figure shit out. And honestly, I wouldn't worry about Rhaena or even Alyssa truly, I got a feeling they have long since turned this hardship to their advantage, and they'll protect each other.” It was honestly the one thing that kept him standing himself where it concerned worry for his sister and her cousin. They weren't alone and both had their mothers' spines, and Jace was right outside those damn city walls with an armada. Nothing was gonna happen to Rhaena or Alyssa, not again. Jace wouldn't make that mistake twice, if only for the fact that before he had left he had felt Torrhen's dagger at his throat in a clear warning and Vaemon's right at his back. “We'll _win_ this war, Jon. Aurane will _recover_ one day. Rhaena and Alyssa will be _freed_. Arthur will...” but Torrhen quickly stopped and changed his wording when Jon twitched and seemed to hunch in on himself even more, curling around the pain. “You just need to believe.”

“In what?” Jon wanted to know and slowly turned to look at him, eyes tired and lined all around with such a deep exhaustion that it was a miracle he was even still capable of holding himself on his feet. Torrhen made that one last step forward until he was close enough that he could feel Jon's mild trembling against his own body.

“In **us**.” He also answered the question and settled his hands on Jon's shoulders, careful and not using any strength or weight behind it. “Believe in you and me. Because I will be with you, _always_.” Jon fell against him, there was no other way to describe it, last strings cut, last energy and strength lost, Jon just fell against him and Torrhen quickly caught him with strong arms. He held his King up with no effort because he would never need any effort to hold Jon up. “No matter what happens you'll always be my little brother.”

_And I will protect you._

_I will win this war for you._

_I will put you on that throne, even if it is the last thing I'll do._

Always and forever.


End file.
